


Work in Progress

by my_unlikely_hero



Series: Avengers Drabbles [8]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Child Abuse, Crossdressing, F/M, Group Therapy, Homophobic Language, Howards A+ Parenting, Insecure Tony, It'll be fine I promise, M/M, Mentions of past abuse and torture, Modern AU, Nightmares everywhere, Pointless gay love shmoop, Slow Burn, Tony Whump, Torture, Veterans, another winteriron, bad guy steve, but only for a little while, no powers au, past abuses, so much swearing, will add more tags later, winteriron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 18:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 31,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7326082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_unlikely_hero/pseuds/my_unlikely_hero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unsure where this is going. Let's see!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, folks. I'm really super unsure where this is going? I'm so sorry. I'm trying Stony but Steve keeps coming up mean. Because I'm the worst. Basically a Tony whump without the powers. Any ideas for a ship?

*Tony*  
The coffee was shit, and the room was hot and there were too many fucked up people in one place, and they all expected Tony to talk about his problems. Perfect strangers, all drooling for a chance to hear the famous Tony Stark air his laundry. Yeah, like that was happening. They could all fuck off. He says as much. 

“You can just pass, Tony,” Sam says at the same time the big blonde hottie says “language.”

”Yeah, like these people haven't seen far fucking worse than a rich alcoholic swearing.” Tony rolls his eyes behind his dark glasses. 

Most of them are war vets. They've said as much. Natasha, Clint, Bucky, Steve and Bruce have all had their turn in group. All of them, save Bruce, are veterans. Bruce was a physicist, almost as smart as Tony, and talks about his incredible anger management issues and his dick father. He's a friend, and the reason Tony was here in the first place. Damn Brucie and his new age self help bullshit. 

“There are ladies present, pal. So watch your language. I don't care who you are, Stark. Your money doesn't buy you a pass to be rude.”

There it was. Tony had been waiting for someone to pull the name card, ‘rich boys don't have problems.’ It's why he's left every therapists office he had ever walked into. He hadn't expected this to be any different, really, but Bruce had insisted it would be fine; ‘it's a safe place, Tony. Really, it is. It'll be fine. Please?”

And because Bruce was a damn con artist when he wanted to be, Tony was back to square one; feeling isolated and annoyed and kinda hungover from the night before. Brucie would have frowned upon him showing up to group therapy drunk. Now all he wants to do is grab a greasy cheeseburger and go get drunk again. 

“Right. And, on that note, I have decidedly better places to be. Not that here isn't great, really, but one does get tired of floresent lights and shit coffee.”

“Tony, wait-” Bruce says, but another voice booms over his. 

“See, you're doing it on purpose now!” Steve complains.

“Anything to get you worked up, blondie,” he says to Steve. He waves goodbye to Bruce and leaves. 

He calls his driver from the hallway. He has a customised version of the latest Starkphone. 

“Hey, so that was a bust. Big surprise there. Let's go grab a burger and a beer.”

Happy picks him up at curb within a few minutes. He knows the score by now, knows to just drive around the block a few times until his boss called him a few minutes later. The shortest time and longest time records were 2minutes, and 15 minutes, respectively. 

The cheeseburger was comfort food but it was delicious. Happy took his with a coke instead of alcohol, and wisely didn't comment on his boss drinking at 11pm. It's five o'clock somewhere, and if he had Tony Starks life he'd probably drink too. Happy plays AC/DC on the ride home because Tony loved rock and roll. 

Afterward, Tony kicks off his expensive suit in favor of worn jeans and a band tee. He rides down to the lab and sets to work on the new prosthetics line. Since he had caught his last CEO, Obadiah Stane, selling dirty weapons, Tony had moved Stark Industries from weapons production to medical and clean energy. 

He ignores three calls from Pepper and one from Bruce. He's elbow deep in wiring when an unknown number calls. 

“JARVIS, who's calling?”

“A mister Sam Wilson, sir.” The leader of that clusterfuck little therapy group. Safe space, his ass. 

“I'll take it.” He waits for the line to connect before he greats the man. “Mister Wilson! What do you need? Donation? Promotion? What's up? I'm a busy man.”

“Listen, Tony, I'm sorry for what Steve said, man. I made it clear to everyone there that wasn't ok. If you wanted to come back, man, I think you'd like it if you tried it.”

“Maybe. Steve going to be there?”

“Maybe, I don't know. But I'll make sure everyone's on their best behavior. He knows better than that, I swear. Anyway, uh, call your man, Bruce. He was worried. Try not to hit the bottles too hard, man. Hopefully I'll see you Wednesday.” 

The line went dead. Tony continued to work on the sensitive wiring, but pondered on Sams offer. Pepper and Rhodey have been pressuring him to get a therapist since that mess in Afghanistan. Rhodey, since before even that. Recently, it was Bruce who had convinced him to try a few different things. Apparently meditating and different therapies had worked wonders on his colleagues anger management issues. 

He doesn't know why be even bothers. It's not like he can't function anymore, he's fine. He's eating and nobody is around to notice if he goes without showering for a few days or a week or two. And nobody cares if he isn't sleeping as long as he gets results to keep Pepper off his back. So really, he doesn't know why Bruce keeps insisting that he go. It's obvious nobody wants him, nothing new there. Still, as he glances at the wedding photo of Pepper and Happy on his desk, the grinding but hollow feeling deepens. He wants a drink. 

So Tony does what he does best, and he drinks. He should go to bed, JARVIS reminds him he hasn't slept in several days, but he can't. He can't sleep and dream of being pressed into the rough cave floor, not again but it's inevitable. So he drinks until he can't stand, and as he passes out on the burnt couch, he prays he won't wake up drunk in the morning. 

 

*Steve*

“What the hell was that, man?”

“He was being disrespectful, Sam. He was cursing in front of Natasha and being rude. He doesn't get a pass to be a jerk just because the guy has money. He was just here to crash the session.” Steve scowls and shakes his head, still condoning the man that had already fled. 

“First of all, you and I both know good and well that Natasha can handle herself. Second, you were just as rude and stand-offish when you first tried group-- all of you were. Tony has just as much right to be here as the rest of you.”

“For what, rich daddy issues? That's nothing. He doesn't belong here,” Clint adds. Natasha scowls at him 

“Didnt you morons keep up with the news at all, on tour?” Natasha scolds, “Stark was kidnapped from a weapons demonstration a few years ago, and held for several months. It came out that his CEO had an agreement with several terrorist cells, dealing weapons on the side. He had paid for Stark to be killed only a few months before he took over the company, only they didn't kill him. They tried to force him to make weapons for them in a cave. He barely escaped.” 

“I haven't heard about this before. When was this?” 

“3 years ago. When he found out Obadiah had betrayed him, he quit making weapons. Stark Industries main concern in now mostly medical and clean energy.”

“That's right, they gave me a new arm.” Bucky plays with the fingers on his shiny prosthetic. He could have had a skin-like cover put over it, but he liked the metal. It looked cool. “Free of charge, including the maintenance.” 

“He's in it for the money, Buck. Someone has to pay for them.”

“Steve, man, what is up with you today? This ain't like you.”

Steve sighs, and grudgingly talks about what has been on his mind. He sleeps dreamlessly most nights, but wakes early in a panic regularly. He admits he has been having problems controlling his aggression, and often sneaks down the gym at the middle of the night to run and box the punching bags.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's chapter 2... Just so you see how far I've gotten. Kinda stuck for ideas but not really? Idk. I have ideas but it needs direction maybe? Idk. I'll figure it out. Comments are love and magic and unicorns!!

Tony doesn't go back to group on Wednesday. Instead he gets trashed and works on the pressure/texture sensors on an arm. He runs out of alcohol on Friday night, at 10 o'clock, because he's an idiot. And because he's a moron alcoholic, he stumbles down the street to the nearest bar, still in his oil stained work clothes. 

The place is busy, but Tony doesn't plan on staying. Besides, he doubts anybody would recognize him under dirty jeans and several days of scruff. Finally he gets the bartender's attention. The man behind the counter is slow, but at least he's hot. 

“Two bottles of something brown and expensive as fuck.” 

The man looks dubious, but goes to the back to comply. 

“Mister Stark? Tony?” Steve fucking Rogers. The blonde is leaning on the bar beside him, trying to order another pitcher of beer, it looked like 

“Sergeant handsome,” he slurs. Ok, not what he meant to say. “What's up? Care to yell some more? I'm drunk enough, I might yell back. It would be pretty dramatic. We could probably make an opera out of it.” 

“Actually, i made Captain. But i’m not going to yell at you.” He paused, “I wanted to apologize for the other day. I might have came off as a little hostile, and it was uncalled for.”

“What?” That was not what Tony had been expecting to hear. 

“Sam brought it to my notice, and I also want to say that if you'd like to come by group again, you would be more than welcome.”

“Right. Yeah. I'll do that.” Not. 

“You should. Bruce has been really worried about you, and it's not fair of you to do that to him. The next meeting is Monday, I really think you should go.”

“Yeah, fine. You got me, I'll be there.” The bartender was returning with two bottles of $50 whiskey. He tosses two hundred on the table, and leaves with them fast enough to leave a vapor trail behind. Damn Steve and his guilt trip, but he was right. He hasn't talked to Bruce since Wednesday, though the man has called twice a day. 

“Bruce?” 

“Tony,” the man has the good sense not to sound surprised by Tony's late call. “Where are you? What are you doing?”

“Walking back to Stark Tower with two shitty bottles of cheap booze. Howard would roll in his grave if he saw.” 

“Great, Tony. And, what, that made you think of me?”

“Steve told me you were worried. I said I'd go to group tomorrow. He said he'd behave.”

“Good! That's good, Tony, that's great! It starts at ten, don't forget.” 

Tony sets an alarm on his phone. 

“I'll see you then, Tony. And try not to show up drunk, okay? Goodnight.”

He's still several blocks from home, but the night is warm. Or maybe it's the alcohol. He passes by some jerk trying to talk a girl into going home with him. Tony's anger ignites. The man grabs her wrist, and Tony can see her skin pinch. It looks painful. Tony sets the bottles down and walks over. 

“Hey! Back off, Hannibal Lector. Strawberry Shortcake said no.” 

“Piss off,” the guys British, and he is still too close to the girl. She's young, and petite, really quite pretty with strawberry hair. She looks scared. 

“I told you to back off,” Tony grabs the guys shoulder, pulling him away from Strawberry Shortcake. She wisely runs. The guy calls him an asshole and punches Tony. His nose bursts with blood, and pain makes his eyes water. The guy walks off, the opposite direction of the girl, Tony notes. Good. It was worth the broken nose, then. Gingerly, he feels along the bridge. Yup, definitely broken. He'll have to wait to get to the tower to fix it, but at least his whiskey and the girl were alright. 

He makes his way to the tower, nose throbbing and vision a little watery, without further incident. He uncaps the first bottle as soon as the door closes behind him. He drinks a quarter of it before he gets to the bathroom.

He hates his reflection in the mirror, showing stained clothes and unkempt body; his eyes look hollow and tired-- exactly how he feels. The hollow/ grinding feeling is back. His face is bloody from his nose. Minus the blood, he looks just like Howard. The same dark eyes, dark hair, tan skin. He hates it. His tired face folds into a snarl, all bared teeth and blood. He punches his reflection as hard as he can, hating himself. His knuckles crack the glass, and he hits it again. Some of it shatters and falls, but Tony keeps punching until his knuckles are bloody and his bathroom is a mess. 

Tony leaves a hundred dollars on the counter for housekeeping. He stands back to admire his handiwork. Blood and glass is everywhere, there's a hole in the plaster where the mirror used to be. It will all be fixed by Monday. He thinks about going to bed, but he drinks instead. The bottle is almost half gone. Tony's vision spins, and finally he compromises. He drags his self as far as the carpet outside the bathroom. He hates his bed-- it's too big, too lonely, and too far away anyway. 

“Oh, Christ. Please, please don't let me wake up drunk.” He mumbles as he drifts to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony wakes up still fairly drunk from the night before, with the most nauseating noise alarming in his ear. His face and his hand both ache in time with his chest. It takes him a while to remember the confrontation with the man in the alleyway, but he doesn't remember hitting the mirror until he stumbles into the bathroom to vomit. He steps on shards, tearing the bottom of his left foot. More pain spikes through his body. 

“Shit!” He pukes on the floor instead, and now there is glass in his foot and probably still in his hand from the night before. He was a fucking mess of blood and sweat and alcohol.

He limps to the kitchen instead then, brews a pot of the strongest coffee he has, and takes a cup to the shower with him. He uses a guest bedroom to shower and pick glass out of his skin-- not in that order. He watches the grease and sweat and blood swirl down the drain, and drinks the coffee in hot swallows. He shaves and dresses in a ridiculously expensive suit, and designer sunglasses. The coffee is gone, and he feels a little less like death. 

He's not early to the meeting, but he isn't late. He grabs a cup of terrible coffee and sits in the circle. Bruce passes him an encouraging, yet curious look. Sam stands before the group, and smiles warmly at Tony. 

“It's good to see you guys back again today. Would anybody like to start us off today?” Tony crosses his legs, stretched out in front of him, and crosses his arms protectively in front of his scarred chest. It sure as hell wouldn't be him. 

The blonde, Clint, talks about something involving a circus and a dancer called Wade. Tony doesn't see the significance of it, but everyone else does, apparently. They all listen intently, politely, nothing like that little spat last week. 

Steve talks about his anger management. No surprise there, really. And nightmares, apparently. 

“I have bad dreams when I sleep. So I stay up late at the gym so I can so I can exhaust myself enough to sleep. And when the dreams eventually wake me up, I go back to the gym to work through my anxiety.” 

Huh, Tony thinks, no wonder the guys ripped. Like, seriously, his arms were as big as Tony's thighs. And his ass was delectable under those pants. 

Bucky shares, his Brooklyn accent soft. Tony notices a Starkmed prosthetic arm, the silver plating bare without a synthetic cover. He hid it under a red Henley but the fingers gleamed when they twitched in sync with the nervous movements of his flesh hand. Buckys voice was strong, but halted, hesitant to say the words. 

“I was at a market yesterday, and I forgot again. I forgot where I was, my name, where I lived-- everything. I had to look through my phone for emergency numbers, and found Steves. He, uh, had to come get me. It was a few hours before I remembered things again.”

Whoa. Memory problems, Tony wondered what he could do about that. Already, he began planning what he would need-- more books on neuro-biology and the like; a way to connect and read the brainwaves. A new project. 

“Tony, would you like to share?” Sam asks. 

“No, I think I'm good right here for now. Thanks.” 

“So you don't want to talk about that broken nose and your bloodied band, then?” Sam calls him out in a manor that was half goading, half just plain calling Tony's shit. But it was not said unkindly. 

“Oh, you know. Some asshole needed a place to land his fist, and I was conveniently placed. What cann I say, I have great timing.” Other than that, he doesn't elaborate. 

“You got into a fight after you left?” Steve asks. 

“Less of a fight, more of a knight-in-shining-armor schtick. You know, buy the booze, save the damsel, get punched in the face, drink the previously mentioned booze.” 

“Really? You defended a girl from getting harassed by some jerk?” Clint asks. Tony doesn't know why he sounds so speculative. Like he doesn't believe Tony Stark would do something so decent.

“Yeah, I'm as surprised as you are, really.” 

“That's not what Clint meant. I think he meant to say that your knuckles are bleeding through the bandage. That guy must have had a face of steel, then.” Natasha voices. She has a very slight Russian drawl underneath her cool tone. 

Surely enough, the bandages are spotted red again. “Oh. Better get these taken care of. On that note--”. With that, he stands and leaves the room behind him. The coffee is cold in his hand, and he throws it away while he waits for Happy to drive him home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the amazing and motivational BlazingStarInInkyBlackness!!

It's a Saturday. Tony is on day four of his work binge, and that means he has had four sleepless nights filled with caffeine and working in the lab. He found himself suddenly motivated after last Monday's group session, and had worked to clear the schedule Tuesday so he could work on the prosthetics line all week. He had worked through Wednesday's group, and all through Thursday and Friday's session too. He doubted he was missed there, anyway. 

In reality, four days without sleeping might be a bit unhealthy. Tony has been jumping at shadows in the corner of his vision, hearing whispers that aren't there; Hallucinations. He needs sleep, but his guilty mind won't quiet enough to let him rest. Frustrated and confined, Tony takes one of his sports cars out for a drive to hopefully clear his mind. He could drink instead, but then Bruce and Pepper would worry. 

Before he knows where he's going, he finds himself in Brooklyn. The streets are dirty and the people look overworked and tired. Tony can relate to that. That's why he prefers New York over Malibu, the city that never sleeps. A city of workaholics, alcoholics, and insomniacs. Tony was all three. 

He's at a stop light, fighting to clear his blurry eyes. He should really sleep, but his conscious is whispering that he hasn't done enough yet, he hasn't worked hard enough. He hasn't earned his sleep. He has to work, he has to get accomplish something. It's penance for all of the blood spilt by Stark Industries weapons bought and sold on the black market. Three years later, and the man was still screwing Tony. 

A familiar face caught his eye. Bucky was standing at the corner, looking lost and searching his pockets frantically while Tony watched. The man's face morphed from lost to scared when he didn't find what he was looking for. Tony wondered if the man was suffering his memory loss again. He watched for a few moments before he gave in. He parks the car half on the sidewalk and rolls the window down. 

“Hey Barnes. How are you doing pal?”

“Who are you? Do I know you?” He leans down to talk through the open window. 

“We went to group together a few times. Did you need to call Steve to come get you?”

“S-Steve?”

“Yeah, Steve. Tall, blonde, buff? Hotter than hell itself?”

“ I-I don't know-- I don't think I know a Steve.” 

Tony sighs. “Where's your phone? I'll call him for you. He's your emergency contact, I think. At least, from what I gathered at the only meeting I stayed for.”

“I don't have a phone. I can't find my wallet either. I don't know where I live. I'm not sure where I am now, either, to be honest.”

“Great. That's great. Uh, what do you want me to do? Is there someone else I can call? A parent maybe? A sibling?”

“I don't remember.” 

“What do you usually do? Never mind, why am I asking you? You don't remember much, Dory. You have a mind like a sieve, my dear man. Okay, uh, I can't just leave you here alone. You might wander into traffic or something and Rogers would kill me. Okay, how about lunch? Bucky? Are you hungry?”

Slowly, he shrugs. His eyes are still wide and lost, impossibly blue behind those dark, thick lashes. 

“Yeah okay. Hop in, Nemo. We'll get you back to the anemone soon enough.”

Bucky folds himself into the seat with far more grace than Tony had. His hair is pulled back from his face in a little tangled bun, while he rocks worn jeans and a faded shirt. 

“So what are you hungry for? Pad Thai? Shawarma? Chinese? Mexican? Burgers? Pizza?” Tony rambles as he pulls into the street. If he sits still he might fall asleep, and he has to get Jason Bourne back home first. Really, he has these great references but he doesn't want to confuse the poor guy more by throwing character names out. 

“Pizza,” Bucky suggests. Tony rolls with it, rambling mindlessly about the origins of pizza until they pull up the the parlor. They sit mostly in silence after they order, Bucky looking perplexed as he concentrates, probably on his current (temporary) lack of memory. 

“Hey, don't sweat it, robot chicken. It'll all come back to you. I'm not sure when, but it will. And until then, just stick with me; you'll be fine until we can find little Bo Peep.”

Bucky doesn't remember anything over lunch. By the time they've finished eating, Tony is basically asleep at the table. His head droops in his hand, eyelids twitching to stay awake. 

“You can't drive like that,” Bucky points out. 

“I've driven drinker than this, Buckycakes. Although I think now I have to insist we take this back to my place.” 

Tony stands, leaves a couple of hundreds on the table, and they leave. Bucky stops him from getting in the drivers seat. 

“You're exhausted, you'll fall asleep at the wheel.”

“But you don't have your license. Are you sure you know how to drive?”

Bucky rolls his eyes at that. “If I don't, I can't be any worse than you would be, half asleep.”

“Fair enough. Can't argue logic, I'm a scientist. That is a very expensive car, by the way, so you know. Be careful, and all that. Probably cost more than your entire apartment building, no matter where you live.”

Tony tucks into the passenger seat and blearily gives directions. He's almost asleep against the door when Bucky turns into the parking garage of Stark Tower. Tony stumbles out the door to the elevator and leans against the wall as it rises. Bucky follows after him, watchful and silent. The elevator drops them on Tony's penthouse floor. 

“Welcome home, sir.” An accented voice echoes from the room. 

“JARVIS, this is Bucky Barnes. He's going to crash here for a bit, until his eggs unscramble. Make at home. Say hi, J.”

“Greetings, Mister Barnes. It is my pleasure to meet you. Should you need assistance, I am at your disposal.”

“JARVIS is an artificial intelligence-- Just A Rather Very Intelligent System. He helps to run everything, so if you need anything, ask. He operates the television, and most other appliances.”

“Wow. It's like something out of a science fiction book.” Buckys voice is filled with wonder. 

“Yeah, well.” Tony shrugs. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen, make yourself at home. Me casa es su casa, and all that. Bathroom and bedroom are that way if you want, whatever. Wake me when your mind catches up to you, and I'll take you wherever you need to be.” 

In the meantime, Tony needs to sleep. He leaves Bucky on the capable hands of his AI, and falls into his bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNING FOR GRAGHIC VIOLENCE AND NONCON!! I did little ** things at the beginning and end so you can skip if you want. So sorry! I guess hurting Tony is my hobby now. I'm the worst. Please message/ kudos!! Thanks so much!!!

The problem with being a genius is that Tony remembers everything. The minute details were branded into his brain several months shy of his 18th birthday. It haunts him in his sleep, like the a more gruesome ghost of Christmas past. Three years later, it all replays in his head, torturing him still. It's like he's back all over again; like he had never really escaped at all. 

** “You think you are important man, but you are nothing but an American whore. Do you know how we treat whores in my country?” 

They've beaten him for days, drowned him in a bucket of stale, stinking water. They want him to make weapons, but even at 17 Tony knows he cannot let his weapons fall into enemy hands. That's when Tony realizes how destructive he is. 

It's all very cliche, Tony knows what will happen next. Still, he fights when several pairs of hands tear his clothes away from him, leaving him naked on the cave floor. 

“The weapons, Stark. Build us the weapons or I'll let the men use you like the whore you are.”

He said no, of course, his voice shaking with fear. God, he was scared. The pain in his chest, his injured heart, multiplies as his heart gallops and his breath quickens. But he can't make them weapons. He can't. 

The first man is strong enough to pin his wrists down, despite his struggling. Tony has always been a little small, but he is dwarfed by the men around him; the man on top of him, turning him around to lay on his stomach. Someone else holds his hands now, and the man behind him grips Tony's pale thighs, forcing them apart. 

“No!” Tony screams it over and over as he fights and cries. He's afraid to say anything else, scared that he might say yes, just to make the pain stop. 

He is taken roughly, with just enough care that he isn't irreparable. 

“No, no, no!” Tony cries. The men laugh, and the first sob escapes his lips. A whimper of pain and fear and misery. The man fucking him-- the man raping him quickens his pace, thrusting with a violent abandon into Tony's unwilling body. He comes in hot spurts inside the teen, and growls something in a foreign language Tony doesn't understand. 

Another man steps behind him to take him. He isn't as gentle as the first, not that he had been gentle by any stretch of the word. This one must figure the boy was stretched and prepped from the previous man. 

Tony stops begging. He is smart enough to know that it does nothing but make him look desperate and yeah, he is, but he can't work for the enemy. He can't be responsible for more American deaths. He repeats it like a mantra in his head. In order to cope, Tony thinks back to childhood beliefs. What would Captain America do? He had been Tony's childhood hero, glorified as strong and noble and righteous. 

Tony thinks, Captain America wouldn't take it like this to begin with. If he did, he wouldn't take it crying and screaming, but Tony can't help it. It hurts, and his own screams echoed back to him from the walls. But he can't say yes, he can't. When the second man finishes, pulling out to come on Tony's welted back, the leader asks again. Something inside him breaks, but he whispers, “no.” 

Sometimes they rape him one or two or three at a time. Sometimes it's more than Tony dares to count-- but he can't help it, literally, he is a genius, and sometimes there are as many as eight. When they aren't fucking him, they're torturing him. They keep drowning him, dunking him beneath the filthy water until he faints from oxygen deprivation. They whip his back and thighs until the welts swell and split open. They come into his cell and beat him into the ground, only careful not to damage his hands. They want him to work, after all. 

**

Tony wakes up with a little gasp. God, they were going to hurt him again. No, no, no, no… but it's not that dark, not completely, not like the cave nights had been. And it's a blue light, not red like the fires or yellow like the sun shining off the desert sand. Blue night lights plugged into the walls, one in the corner near his bed, and another by the door. It's better, but not enough. There are too many shadows to hide in. 

“L-l-lights! Lights, JARVIS, turn on the lights,” he cries. The room brightens, and Tony can see there are no men lurking in the corners of his home as he checks his room and bathroom before heading to the living room. Bucky was snoring lightly on the couch while the television played Mythbusters in the background. 

Careful not to disturb the sleeping man, he sits in the chair closest to the door, farthest from Bucky. Tony is still trembling, his body shaking from fear and the consequential adrenaline rush that followed the nightmare. 

Tony feels bare in his pajama pants and tee shirt. He curls his legs beneath him, wraps his bare arms around himself. One arm wraps around his own hips, gripping the fabric of his pants possessively. The other presses to his scarred chest, over his weak heart. 

Yinson had been able to stitch the wounds left by the shrapnel, but it had left his heart compromised and weak. Some days it ached so badly Tony couldn't force himself out of bed. He could take painkillers for it, he knows, but he also fears the slippery slope that could lead him back to addiction. His detox in the cave was bad enough that Tony dare not pick the habit back up again. Also, with his weakened heart the drugs could kill him. 

He stares at the screen, desperate to calm himself. He grips to the television like a lifeline to the present. He reminds himself that he escaped. It's a little ironic, really, that Tony was prized and captured only for his weapons, and yet he had made one to escape. A missile rigged to backfire and explode outside the compound to cause damage and chaos, and several strategically placed bombs to blow the wall of the cave. 

It had been sudden and loud and messy. He remembers Yinson right before half of the cave collapsed. The other man had not made it out. Tony had ran, then, using the distractions from both explosions to flee. It would be hours at best before they knew he wasn't under the rubble too. Tony had wandered for hours in the desert before he happened upon a US military helicopter flying above. That's how Tony met the good Colonel Rhodes, one of the few men good enough and hopeful enough to still be searching for the missing teen. 

Tony's thoughts are still foggy with exhaustion now that the adrenaline from his nightmares has worn off. He needs more than a few naps over a five day course. He may be young and full of energy, but he had to crash sometime. Even when he had been doing cocaine he had to sleep eventually. Against his will, his body demands rest and he sleep again, body still shaking from residual fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm stumped for an ending? Basically right now is just... Modern fluff? I feel a little adrift. Please send a life raft ;) thanks for reading! You're all super!! Comments/kudos are equal to a hundred puppy kisses


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky wakes up in a strange living, on a couch that isn't his. Some science show plays in the background, and he notices the man curled on the chair across the room. He remembers then. Well, he remembers NOT remembering; where he lived, who he was, where he was. 

Tony had found him on the street where he had popped down for some plums from the street market. He must have forgotten his phone and wallet in the apartment, because they aren't in his pockets now. He doesn't remember what triggered him, but he remembers Tony helping him. They had eaten lunch, and Tony had invited him home and made sure he was taken care of. He remembers the words, ‘stick with me, you'll be fine.’ 

The apartment was spacious and modern, but still cozy. The furniture was obviously expensive but very comfortable. He had dozed off on the couch, and Tony had returned from sleeping in his room, and for some reason was now sleeping in the chair instead. It was odd, but Bucky figures that billionaire geniuses were allowed their strange quirks. 

He looks even younger, curled around himself like he needs to hide. Even in sleep his arms are wrapped around his chest and, strangely, hips; his legs are curled close. It's a form born of fear and a necessity for protection. The men in the POW camp, himself included, had all slept like that. He knew from experience that it was a hard habit to break.

Tony Stark shouldn't have a reason to sleep like that, but then he remembers what Natasha had said all those days ago. Tony was a survivor, too; he had been kidnapped and held for three months before he had used their equipment to trick his captors and escape. The articles he had read had not elaborated on how he had escaped, beyond the usual ‘cunning and firepower’ line that was utter bullshit. It was civilian talk for ‘luck and big weapons.’ 

Bucky thinks Tony looks tired, too. Exhausted and stressed even as he sleeps. Dark bags have pooled under his eyes against olive skin. He would have wrinkles if he were older. As it is, the self-neglect is obvious under the layer of posh exterior; his facial hair is impeccably trimmed, but he obviously hasn't slept in days. His hair is always styled, but his pajamas hang off of his small frame. Bucky thought he would be taller. He looks taller in his photos. 

Absently, he wishes he could text Steve to let him know he was safe at a friends.

Friend. When had Tony Stark become a friend? Probably when he picked Bucky off the streets, afraid he might hurt himself. Before today, Bucky had not been sure if Stark even felt human emotions, he was so composed in the public eye. 

Bucky had watched the interview from right after Tony's rescue. Apparently, he had called a press conference as soon as his feet had his American soil. He had sat on the floor with a bag of food-chain cheeseburgers, and announced to the world that Stark Industries would cease all production of weapons, effective immediately. 

The paparazzi photos from before the abduction showed a handsome young man, cocky and even spoiled, if the party pictures and drug accusations were anything to go by. But that was not the same man currently sleeping in the living room. Bucky grabs a throw blanket from the guest bed-- it's made of a soft black material, luxurious and undoubtedly expensive. He figures it was as good as any cheap blanket he had ever used. When he returns to the front room he covers Tony gently with the blanket, and steals the remote to find something better to watch. 

It's hours later when Tony finally wakes to find Bucky marathoning episodes of Cake Wars. 

“Time ‘s it?” Tony groans, stretching his limbs from their cramped position. Bucky watches his shirt ride up, showing off tanned skin and a torso that, while attractive, could use a little more circumference. He looks half starved. 

“A little after midnight, I was just about to give up on you and crash on the guest room.” 

Tony rubs his eyes, and stumbles to the kitchen. Bucky takes that as a que to follow after, and hops onto the counter while Tony turns on the coffee maker. 

“You were supposed to wake me up when you were ready to go, you know. Not that I'm putting in effort to kick the gorgeous man out of my place. I just thought it might out Rogers’ panties in a twist if he thought I stole his besty. I'll drive you home after coffee. Coffee first. Coffee always comes first. But then again, I wouldn't want Steve-o to worry, have a stroke or something." He drinks from his steaming mug, and hands one to Bucky. He sees that both mugs are sporting a cute little kitten on each. 

“There's no rush, believe it or not I am actually a grown adult with his own life. I thought you needed your sleep. Actually, you probably still do. You know, in an actual bed this time. It looks like you need it. When is the last time you slept?”

“Mother hen.”

“Someone has to. I don't see anyone else around to.”

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you. I've been doing it for years now, I can tie my own shoes and everything now,” Tony smirks, drinking his coffee in gulps like he can't get the caffeine fast enough. 

“Unless you're kicking me out, of course.” Bucky raises a questioning brow. 

“I'm pretty sure there's a law somewhere that says I can't run off military vets. I think Pepper made it, along with the ‘no purple suits or bow ties’ and ‘no more major company turnarounds without her approval.’”

“Who's Pepper?”

“Pepper Potts, SI’s CEO. She's the real brains behind the company.” 

“Beside every great man stands a great woman,” Bucky quotes something he heard years ago. 

“Well, it's not quite like that. In case you haven't noticed, I'm gayer than Hamilton and Rent.” 

At that, Bucky barks a laugh, tossing his head back. “Okay, TJ Hammond. Did you want to watch a movie, or sleep?” 

“I can think of much better ways to spend the night, gorgeous,” Tony flirts on habit. 

“Don't get me wrong, you're swell and real pretty, but you're so tired its like you're drunk, and I prefer my partners sober. Let's just watch a movie. You can let me take you to bed another night.” Bucky studies Tony's reaction. A mix of disbelief, shock, and then, surprisingly, relief. 

The pair sit curled next to each other on the couch, shoulders and knees brushing. Bucky finds they both share a love of space movies, and Tony has JARVIS put on Star Wars. Slowly, they tangle together on the couch and fall asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little longer this time, because BONDING!!! Again, comments and kudos are my moon and stars!! So much thanks to JProxy!! <3

Tony wakes to the smell of bacon. Which is really strange, since Tony knows for a fact that there is nothing edible in this house aside from alcohol, coffee and protein bars. Definitely not bacon. Tony follows the smell to the kitchen. It's late enough in the day to be bright outside now, and Bucky had woken early enough to go to the store for a pack of bacon and a dozen eggs. The least he could do was cook breakfast for the man that had let him stay here. 

Tony found him in front of the stove, cooking bacon with eggs and pancakes. He had washed the gel out of his hair, leaving it fluffy and soft looking. Tony's hands itched to play with it. Bucky still wore yesterday's jeans, but he had found one of Tony's missing shirts somewhere, and it was stretched taut across his broad chest. 

Tony nabs a piece of bacon from the pile, and enjoys the view. “Mm, I don't even have to let you fuck me, and I get bacon? I should kidnap you more often.”

“Kidnap? Ha! I would say it was more like a rescue, but I don't want your ego to swell.” He makes sure to wink so Tony knows he's kidding. Something tells him to take it easy with him. 

“I'm no Captain America, that's a fact. Maybe more like Iron Man-- raging alcoholic, fantastic suits. Though, mine are Armani, and don't fly.” 

“That's probably a good thing. Though, maybe if your suits could fly, you would show up to more group meetings.”

“I went to a couple!”

“You went to two out of 6 in two weeks,” Bucky calls him out, but there is a teasing tone to it. It isn't a real lecture, just a little concern. 

“You know I own a business, right? I make Donald Trump look like a street whore. I am a very busy man, I can't just take off for group three days a week.”

“Where were you Friday?”

“In the lab, adjusting the new sensors for the prosthetic upgrades. Actually, it's something I would love your help on. Unless you're busy. I know you told Captain Bitch Face you would be home today. Are you two dating or what? You're always talking about each other.”

“I'm not dating anyone. Stevie and I have known eachother since we were scrappy kids running around Brooklyn. I can do whatever I want, he isn't my keeper.” Bucky rolls his eyes, and turns the stove off. Tony shrugs agreeingly. 

He watches Bucky as he plates the eggs with a mound of bacon, puts two pancakes on a separate plate, and sets both in front of Tony. His does the same with his own plate, but with more pancakes. 

“I hope you didn't have any plans today, because it's already 2pm; this is practically dinner.” Bucky points out the clock on the stove; it reads 2:24. 

“Not really; it's a Sunday, and Pepper handles most of the important stuff, which leaves me down in the lab for the most part. Not that I'm complaining, I would much rather deal with my bratty robots than investors and board members.”

“Wait, hang on just a minute there. Did you just say ‘robots’,” Bucky gasps in shock. 

Tony's face lights up. Usually people react with hesitation or even fear at his creations. Of course, he should have seen it coming after seeing Buckys reaction to JARVIS. 

“They're down in my lab. You bring the bacon, I'll bring the coffee.” Tony nabs the coffee carafe and Bucky grabs the remaining bacon on a plate. JARVIS opens the door to the lab with a very soft whoosh, and Buckys eyes light with wonder. The room is filled with impressive equipment, and Bucky has no idea what most of it does. It's like something out of a sifi novel. 

“Holy cow,” he mutters in awe. Secretly, Tony thinks the Brooklyn accent is sexy. 

“So, you like? I mean, of course you do, this is really the most expensive, and therefore best, room in the entire tower. Be careful what you touch, though; some of it will burn you. And, of course, what is a lab without a little explosive material, right? Anyway, what do you think?”

“Just-- wow. Tony, this is amazing! It's like we're in the future.” He runs a hand through his hair, and spins to admire the room. There are tools scattered about, cans of brake cleaner and WD40, and oil rags. Littered about are maybe a dozen empty liquor bottles. 

“You think this is cool? J, where are the kids?”

“In their charging stations, sir,” the cool voice informs. 

“Great! Let ‘em out, let's introduce our guest.” 

From somewhere in the lab there was a couple of perky beeps, and then two robots rolled their way forward. They weren't exactly what Bucky was expecting, but they're still really, really cool. 

“This is Dum-E, and U.” 

“Interesting names,” Bucky grins at Tony, wide and flirty. Tony blushes a little, and rubs a hand behind his neck. 

“Yeah, they're a bit special at times. I made Dum-E at MIT. Which means I was fueled on booze and, uh, you know, other college, uh, enhancers. Whatever. So they have some programming issues, but they're mostly functional. Dum-E was the first programming I made for JARVIS. He's really his own AI.”

Bucky's eyes roam the figures, all three spinning as they eyed each other. It was funny to watch as the man twirled and the two robots circled him. Dum-E gave a chirp and poked his claw forward to inspect him closer. Bucky slowly reached his hand out, hovering just above the metal. 

“Yeah, sure, pet him. He loves attention. And fire extinguishers, but I doubt that's relevant right now. Just, you know, for future reference.” 

Slowly, carefully, Bucky runs his flesh hand over Dum-Es frame. The robot nudges his hand with his claw, like a dog demanding attention. Bucky laughs again, and pats him like a pet. 

“How old were you?” 

“Fifteen.”

“Wait. What? You were at MIT at fifteen? That's incredible!”

“Actually, fourteen. Not to brag,” he winks at Bucky. 

“Tony! Holy cow, you're amazing.” His eyes catch Tony's, and he's grinning back at him. His brown eyes sparkle from the praise, something he isn't used to. Bucky wants to kiss him, but doubts himself. Who would want some vet with a fucked up brain?

Together they waste hours in the lab. Bucky was stripped of his (Tony's) shirt, and Tony had gently, carefully removed Bucky's prosthetic arm, and connected the new prototype. 

Immediately, Bucky can tell a difference in the weight and movement. It's lighter than his own was. He can feel his fingers moving, pleasingly similar to the feeling of moving the muscles in his flesh hand. A grin of amazement splits Bucky's face again. Tony is already hooked on that smile. He wants to make it his new goal in life to make that smile. 

“How does it feel? It doesn't hurt, right? It doesn't pinch anywhere?”

Bucky shakes his head. 

“Ok, great. Put it straight out to the side? Good? Yes? Now, straight up? Great. Now, like, in a circle. Is that okay? Does it pinch anywhere? Can you feel anything grind or kink up?”

“No, it's all great. The movements are really smooth.”

“Okay, that's good. That's what I was aiming for. But can you roll your shoulder for me?” 

He does, but he rolls his eyes, too. “It feels fine. The movements are all smooth, it's lighter than mine, and I can actually feel the movements. It doesn't hurt, but it's sort of like I can feel the little plates move? It feels sorta like moving my flesh hand.” As if to demonstrate, he wiggles the fingers of both hands, then his circles his wrists slowly. He bends both elbows and biceps. He stares, wide eyed, as he moves both arms. 

“Tony, that's amazing.” 

“Wait right here,” the genius demands as he rushes off. Bucky doesn't seem to notice, still staring in wonder as he tests the prototype. 

Tony comes back several minutes later with an armful of stuff that he drops on the table beside Bucky. A bag of frozen peas, and a couple chilly bottles of water; a microwaved warm cloth, and a new pot of steaming coffee. There was also an egg, loaf of bread, an empty aluminum can from the trash, jars of jelly and peanut butter, and two balls. 

“Whoa, what's all this for then?”

“Well, temperature and pressure measurement assessments, first. Then we'll figure out texture later. Basically, I'm tuning your arm. So, hold this and tell me how it is. you should probably feel it with your right hand first, to help gauge the difference.” He hands Bucky the lukewarm cloth, first. 

“It's kinda warm, and it's wet. I can feel the terry cloth.” Bucky is amazed how sensitive the arm is. His own was nothing near as precise as this. He could move it just fine, but it never had much sensitivity beyond how much pressure he was putting to open and push doors, open jars, and the like. 

“Good! Now this.” Tony snatches the cloth from him, and places a thin, fragile looking mug in front of him. It feels almost burning in Bucky's right hand, and he can't hold it for long. His left, he can barely feel it much warmer than the cloth had been. He says so to Tony, who opens up an semi-easy-access panel. 

“Now, the goal is to make it sensitive enough that you know it's hot, but I don't want you to feel any pain, okay? Tell me to stop when it gets uncomfortable.” 

Slowly Tony adjusts something with a long, thin tool. Slowly, the temperature of the mug rises until it tingles with the same almost-burning as his right hand. 

“There, right there. Perfect. It feels just like with my real arm.” 

“Well, we aren't finished yet, but that's the goal. Now, the water bottle.” 

That one needed little adjusting, as did the peas. After that, they made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and Tony adjusted the arm sensors again so he didn't mash the bread, or tear it as he spread the peanut butter. After their snack break, they toured the tower feeling objects with different textures and adjusting the sensors with the strange tool. Tony was sarcastic and snarky, but also funny and generous. At the end of all of the adjustments, and celebrating with victory pizza, it was nearly 3 in the morning. 

“I guess we should call it a night. It's pretty late, and we have a meeting in the morning.”

“You could stay. If you wanted. Platonically, or whatever. Of course.”

“Oh, I was planning to. It's 3 in the morning. Besides, who would drag you to group tomorrow if I ain't around?”

“Okay, let me go see if I have anything that will fit you.”

Tony leads the way to his own bedroom, and spends several minutes digging through the drawers for something that might fit Bucky in the morning. Or sleep clothes, whatever. He doesn't know how the man sleeps. While he searches, he rambles about horoscopes. Tony is a Gemini, Bucky is a Pisces. 

Eventually he finds a collection of larger sweatpants, and tee shirts (probably from one night stands a lifetime ago) and they separated for the night. Bucky drifts off, imagining he was sleeping next to Tony. Tony stays awake for several more hours, mind racing and dreading the meeting in the morning. Eventually he begins to drift in and out of fitful sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Tony gives up on sleep around 7am, and meanders into his kitchen for leftover pizza. Really, he wants to down a bottle of whiskey, but that isn't an option tonight. Bucky is sleeping peacefully in the guest room-- hopefully--- and they have group therapy again tomorrow morning. 

Tony had a breakfast of coffee and cold pizza, and plays with a hologram of his new baby project, BARF; Binarily Augmented Retro Framing. Essentially, a device that can connect to a patient's hippocampus, select and alter certain memories before projecting them onto the patient's surroundings. In theory, it should allow for a patient to overcome a past traumatic experience. 

At 8oclock, the alarm in the guest room woke Bucky, and he came stumbling out. He helped himself to the pre made coffee and another kitten mug. Tony is sitting on the couch with his own coffee and last nights pizza. He doesn't look like he slept much, if at all. His eyes look tired, but at least the bruise on his nose is fading. 

“Morning, hot stuff.”

“Mufhm,” Bucky growls. Apparently neither were morning people. Or at least, Tony is never happy when he wakes up on the rare occasion that he actually sleeps. “Coffee first. Coffee always first,” he quotes Tony from the morning before. 

They sit in comfortable silence together, drinking coffee until the first pot is empty. They dress while the second pot brews; Bucky in another pair of borrows sweats and short, Tony in worn jeans, an overly large black jacket, baseball cap, and slips his contacts in leu of wearing his glasses. The media would have a field day if they caught him walking into a therapy group. 

“You look cute in glasses,” Bucky admits. 

“What? Wait, are you serious? Oh okay. I mean, thanks.” Howard had hated them, had made Tony wear contacts since he was ten. “They're prescription, too. Blurry vision from too many years staring at computer screens. I usually wear contacts.”

They take a sleek new model that Tony weaves through traffic. They still walk into the meeting almost ten minutes late, looking flush from the excitement. Sam stops speaking, and every head spins to look at them. There's a pause before the room explodes. 

Clint throws his arms up and cheers, and Natasha slaps his arm, and then the two are bickering loudly like children while Phil reprimands them both. They just add to the noise. More importantly, Steve stands to attention, back and shoulders rigid. 

“Bucky, have you been with Stark the whole weekend? I've been worried sick! I came home and you weren't around, and you'd left your phone and wallet both at home.” Steadily, Steves voice rose until he was nearly yelling. “I've been worried you had an episode and gotten lost, or hurt , or worse! You could have been dead for all I knew, and you were shacked up with Stark!” 

“I'm an adult, Steve. 27, actually. You don't need to nag at me. I went out to get plums, forgot my shit in the apartment, and I guess something triggered me. I had an episode, forgot everything. But Tony found me walking around, and took me home.” 

Steve takes in Bucky's washed hair, and borrowed clothes. The sweatpants are certainly not Buckys, and he recognizes one of Tony's favorite band shirts on him friend. His face darkened. 

“He took you to his house?” He asks, incredulously. He rounds on Tony, now, stepping into his space and glowering down at him with hatred. He forces Tony to step back until he is pressed against the wall. 

“You took him home? He was lost and vulnerable, and you thought you would take him back to your place?” The hand fisted in Tony's jacket, pulling him up to Steve's furious face. “You're sick!” 

Sam is talking in the background, trying to calm everyone. Bucky puts his hand on Steves shoulder, trying to object to the accusations being thrown, but Steve isn't listening. He steamrolls right over him, shrugging Buckys hand away.

Steve pulls his arm back and punches Tony in the face as hard as he can. The force whips Tony's head back, and it smacks against the brick wall directly behind him. His cheek thunders with pain, but Tony's just grateful it wasn't his glasses. 

“You think you can just take advantage of someone because he's vulnerable and you're rich? It's still rape! You sick pervert.”

He hits Tony again before Sam and Bucky pull him off of the smaller man. Tony crumbles back against the wall, clutching his aching jaw where Steves blows had landed. 

“Fuck! Fuck you, Rogers! You really think I would hurt someone like that?” Tony gasps. He forces himself to stand. “Coming here was a mistake. Don't worry, I won't sue. I'm sure I deserved that for some other cosmic justice.” 

Tony rushes out the door, leaving Bucky and Steve arguing behind him. His chest hurts more than his face, burning with his racing heart. His lungs won't draw air, and he is grateful to finally stumble into his car before the tears fall. Not that he's crying because he can't take a punch or two, but because he was spiraling into panic now, and he can't breath. 

It's hardly quieter here, with the rush of angry traffic and the darkness of his tinted windows suffocating him. He can't breath, it feels like his heart is going to explode. He jumps with a strangled cry when his passenger door opens, and a slim figure settles in beside him.

“Easy, Tony. Breath. Everything's going to be ok, you're having an anxiety attack. Just breath through it-- there, just like that. Good, Tony. Keep breathing.” 

When he's calmed enough to speak, he turns to her. “Thank you. I, uh-- sorry. That you had to see that. But I swear, Natasha, I never touched Bucky like that. I would never do that. You can ask him, everything was very G-rated.” 

“I know. Bucky is stronger than Steve gives him credit for. I came to see if you were alright. He landed some pretty solid hits in there. Your jaw is already swelling.”

“It's fine. I'm fine. You can go check on the Brooklyn Boys, I'm going home. Don't worry, I'll stay away from Bucky. Cap in there made the message pretty clear.” 

He waits for Natasha to leave, but she doesn't. “Or, you could come inside, ice your face, and watch Steve beg for forgiveness. Bucky will have set him straight by now.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the actual worst. I'm cursed. Actually, I'm just a clutz. I keep meaning to post these, but I keep deleting them on accident! Then I have to rewrite, and remember what I wrote and what I didn't really write and what I was going to write. But then I get confused and have to retread everything to make sure I didn't get lost somewhere or accidentally repeat something or skip it and... Anyway! Sorry for any mistakes. As always, thanks so much for reading!! And commenting!! It's my first weekend off from work since I started the story so let's see which way this goes :) hopefully I've got something epic coming up. I feel like there should be something epic soon. A real jaw dropper. I'll work on it. Please kudos and comments are love!! And more kitten mugs for Tony!!

He doesn't go back inside. Because, honestly, fuck Rogers for accusing him of-- … Of that. Tony would rather hand himself over to terrorists again than hurt someone let that; than to let someone be violated like that. Honestly, that hurts more than the two punches to the face do. And they hurt like a bitch, too. Captain Neanderthal hadn't pulled his punches. Or maybe he had, he because he doesn't think anything is broken. 

It's a good thing that Steve can take Bucky home without Tony feeling guilty, because he is fucking out of there. Without even really looking, he whips out into traffic. Car horns honk and New Yorkers scream at him angrily, and fuck them, too. They're all as annoying and useless to him as the tears fogging his eyes. Still, he speeds back to the tower. 

Tony parks the car haphazardly; he wants to bolt to the private elevator, but he knows he's being ridiculous, and he's still in public. He can't afford a breakdown right now. He forces himself to walk on shaking legs, and practically collapses when the doors finally close. His heart is pounding too hard, and it aches. Another fucking panic attack. 

Slowly, Tony makes himself calm down through techniques he had read about. It takes a long time, too long, to calm himself. Actually, it's his ringing phone bringing him closer to reality, grounding him. His shaking hands drop it but he sees Buckys face fill the screen. He can't let Bucky see-- or hear, rather-- him like this; weak. 

Several minutes later his breath calms. His chest still throbs in tune with his heart. He struggles to the couch, stopping to grab a bottle from the bar on his way. He collapses into the thing, kicks off his shoes, and tips the bottle back. He has been good since Bucky was around to distract him from the booze and the loneliness; but now he's pretty desperate. His hand shakes as he drinks. 

His phone rings with You Shook Me All Night Long, AC/DC; it's Bucky again. Tony let's it ring. He drinks. 

Bucky calls three more times, and Tony ignores all of them. They're about a half hour apart, but then they stop. Tony's not surprised. He's been waiting for Bucky to leave since literal day one. Really, he's surprised that he stocked around this long. Not even Pepper and Rhodey could stand to be in his presence for such a long period of time. Which is why Rhodes only stopped in for Christmas and maybe Thanksgiving, and Pepper lived in Malibu. 

Everyone got sick of him, eventually. It was like his curse. Howard had been busy with work, and Maria had her charities and balls and galas and lovers and booze. They had both had plenty of lovers and booze. 

Tony had often been left under the care of their most trusted butler, Edwin Jarvis; the AI, JARVIS’s namesake. He had never told Tony he was a horrible, useless child, or that he was a spoiled little smartass, as so many adults had. He had certainly never struck Tony like Maria and Howard were apt to do when they had reached the end of their patience. 

Of course, then Edwin Jarvis and Maria had died in that car crash, just a week before Christmas when Tony was 10. Howard had become a real bastard after that. Without Maria to keep reign Howard, and Jarvis to keep track of Tony, the two clashed in the worst of ways. Violent ways, that left Tony wrapping his own swollen, bruised ribs because he couldn't go to a doctor. 

Howards drunken rages had become something to be feared and actively avoided. Suddenly, Tony found himself unable to return home, and had found his money and fame welcome at even college parties. His life had spiraled from there, of course, but that was old news. 

The bottle isn't empty yet, but it's getting there. Tony is drunk, sprawled on the couch, with tv playing something mindless. Tony just hopes to stave off the loneliness. His chest still burns, and his eyes dart after the little whisky shadows in his vision. He should go to sleep, but he isn't drunk enough to pass out yet. 

“Sir, Mister Barnes is entering the elevator.” JARVIS informs him suddenly. 

“What?” No, that wasn't right. Bucky had given up. The door opens and Bucky rushes in. He looks frantic. 

“Tony? Shit, are you okay? What's wrong?” He comes to kneel by Tony's head, he eyes the bottle nearly finished in Tony's hand. 

“Oh! Hey, what's up? Buck, Bucky, Buckaroo.”

“Shit, Tony. What's wrong? Sit up. Come on, pal.” He helps Tony sit up slowly, and lean against him. His leans over the back of the couch, and Bucky's fingers find their way to stroke his hair. 

“So what's the matter? Tell me what's wrong. What I can do.”

“Nothing. I'm fine, everything's fine, it's fantastic. Why would anything be wrong?” Tony bluffs. 

“You're drunk at 2pm. You're crying. Your face is all bruised up. Something's wrong. was it Steve? I let him have it, for that. I set him straight about the whole thing. He feels real bad about the whole thing.” 

Tony wipes at his cheeks, his palms coming away wet. Huh. He didn't realize.  
“No, it's fine. I'm fine. You could have stayed in Brooklyn. You don't have to worry about me.”

“For no reason, obviously. Not like you were downing a bottle alone, or anything. Man, what was I worried about?” 

“You're such a smartass.”

“I'm sorry. Just-- please, Tony. What's wrong? Absolutely no judgment here. I just want to help.”

Tony sighs, and straightens himself. Steeling himself for the admission. Bucky responds in kind, worry increasing.  
Of course, he doesn't dare tell Bucky how unwanted Tony feels. Nobody likes a pity party. He plays it off

“I just can't sleep. I just want to sleep. And I've tried, but I can't. And I feel like utter shit, and God, I just want to sleep, Bucky.” His voice is soft, like he doesn't dare admit this weakness aloud.. 

“That's it? Don't worry, I can fix that. I ain't going anywhere. But first-- bedroom. Let's get you changed into pajamas.”

Tony let's himself be pulled up, and helped to the bed. Honestly, he expects a little groping. But Bucky just sits him down and helps him strip and then-- oddly enough-- REDRESS. In proper pajamas. He doesn't try to strip Tony's boxers, or to dress him in lacy lingerie, like that one time that he only sort-of remembers. 

“Come on, drink this.” A sealed bottle of water from Tony's own fridge is handed to him, and Tony drinks half of it. Bucky returns in sweatpants from his room and climbs under the cover beside Tony. 

“Are you a big spoon or a little spoon?” Bucky asks. 

Tony stares in disbelief. “Seriously? Take a guess.”

“Hey! You're sassy sometimes, I just thought I'd check,” Bucky teases. He opens his arms in invitation. Slowly, Tony scoots forward and let's himself be embraced. He lies tense for the longest time, but Bucky is soft and warm around him. 

Finally Bucky sighs, and moves his arm so Tony's head rests on the bicep of his flesh arm, and his fingers can comb through Tony's hair. The prosthetic curls around his back to hold him close, the metal fingers very gently rubbing circles into his back. 

“Relax,” Bucky whispers. “I'm not going anywhere.” 

Eventually, Tony relaxes into the little massages. His eyes drift closed, and his brain focuses on Bucky's beating heart. It quiets for the first time in so, so long. He sleeps.


	10. Chapter 10

Tuesday goes far smoother than Monday had. Well, actually, he sort of felt like shit, and his chest hurts and his migraine has set in. But he wakes up slowly, the most comfortable he has been in years. Bucky had woken when Tony began to shift off of him, and, eyes bleary and barely awake, gave Tony a good morning kiss. It was quick, just a peck, really. Tony's eyes fly open in surprise. 

“Shit! Tony, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to. I mean, I wanted to, but I should have had the sense not to! But you were so cute with your tired morning face.” 

“Kiss me again?” Dares to ask, barely a whisper. 

Bucky does. A little longer this time, but it was still so gentle, like he was afraid Tony might bruise. 

“Good morning.” Bucky grins. 

“Good morning,” Tony smiles back, rolling his eyes. “Thank you. For staying, I mean. I know-- I know I'm not always easy.”

“Nobody's easy. That's a myth. Like Loch Ness monster or Natasha's soul,” Bucky quips. 

“Enough feelings. You're going to make me break into hives. Breakfast? There's this great little place down the street.” Bucky nods, and they don't even bother dressing in street clothes. They brush their teeth and walk to the little diner in their pajamas and sleep hair. Bucky reaches to hold Tony's hand as they walk. 

Bucky notices Tony looks much better today. The bags under his eyes are nearly gone, and they're bright with energy again. Tony looks young as he talks animatedly, waving his hands as he talks, while still trying to eat his omelette. He's telling Bucky about the time he nearly burned down his dorm his third year at private school with an electric ‘campfire’ so they could make s'mores after curfew. 

After, Tony drags them to the lab to work. The man is always working, Bucky thinks. It's his version of running. That, and the drinking. This time, though, Tony is arranging to send the prototype into mass production. He babbles about how slow the process it, and even with his cheek all bruises and swollen, he looks adorable. And he's so smart, and kind. Bucky's kinda hooked. 

“Will you go on a date with me? Bucky blurts. Tony pauses what he is doing to look up through his lashes. He looks a little disbelieving. 

“What?” Okay, not very articulate. But he had never been asked before. Ever. Not one single time. 

“I'd love to take you out on a date Friday; to the dinner and dancing. If you would go with me.”

“Wow. I mean, of course! Yes, I'd love to go on a date with you. I was just shocked, for a minute there. I thought maybe I was hallucinating, or drunk. Nobody's ever asked me out before. Still, there's a first for everything, I guess!”

“Dinner Friday? I've been thinking that you would love this little Italian place in Brooklyn, it's only a few blocks from Steves apartment, called Mama Bella's.” Tony notices that he doesn't claim it as his own anymore. “But if your meeting is gonna run too late,-”

“No, no. I would love to, and the investors won't take that long. Hell, I'd blow it off for a date with you.” Tony blushes as he rambles. Bucky thinks it's cute. 

“Great! That's super. I'll pick you up at 8?” 

“Sounds good.” 

It's a Tuesday, so Bucky has to be at work at 10; him and Steve work as bouncers at this club, 60Below. He leaves Tony to his own work, and promises to be back in the morning. He's sort of boycotting Steve at the moment. 

 

*Bucky*

“You're an asshole, you know that?” Bucky tells Steve as soon as they meet at work. 

The boss, Alex Pierce, had put Bucky and Steve on the floor, while Rumlow had the door. 

“What was I supposed to think? You have to admit it looked bad. You know I'm not a violent guy, I wouldn't hit someone who didn't deserve it.” Steve defends. 

“Tony didn't deserve it. You just punch and ask check the facts later. Half his face is swelled up and bruised from his jaw all the way up to past his eye. I bet it hurts like a bitch. You know what Tony said? That it was fine. Not to worry about it. You've been wrong about him this whole time. And you still haven't apologized.”

“I am sorry. Things at group got out of hand, and I acted rashly.” Steve has the good sense to look ashamed of himself. Good. He should be. “I'm sorry I couldn't tempur down, and someone got hurt.” 

“That's great and all, but it ain't me you should be apologizing to. Tony got hurt, not ‘someone’. He's a good guy, Steve. I wanna take him out to dinner Friday.”

“I think that's a bad idea,” Steve frowns and crosses his arms over his broad chest. “I don't get what you see in him. He's loud, and rude, and obnoxious. He's self-entitled, and his ego is huge! He's a playboy, all the papers say so; even if you two do go out for a while, it'll be just a phase for him. He'll just hurt you.” 

“You don't know that. You don't even know him! He's funny, and he's smart, and he's charming. But he's also really nice. And you know, I'm not sure about his ego. He seems pretty self-loathing to me. He never sleeps, and he drinks enough to drown a fish. He doesn't even have a lot of stuff, really, just tools and equipment.” Bucky pauses. 

“I'm gonna try and bring him back to group, but I wouldn't blame him if he calls the whole thing quits. And that's another thing-- he went there twice looking for a safe space, and you wiped the floor with him. That's not the Steve Rogers I know. Anyway, you can apologize then. A real apology, too. And maybe you should look at going to your own private therapy session. Sam is great, but you aren't managing it anymore, Stevie. There's something driving you nuts, and you aren't opening up to us about it. I'm always here if you need me, you know that? Just-- you need to cool it man.”

Steve nods knowingly. “Yeah. I know. I think you're right. I'm squeezed an appointment in with Doctor Maria Hill.”

“That's good; that's great, Stevie. I hope it does some good.”

“Yeah, me too. I hope you can get Tony to come back to group.”

“Yeah, me too.”

 

*Tony* 

Bucky comes back at 6am, and Tony's own eyes are starting to drift. Normally, he would drink more coffee and get back to work; things to do, and no time like the present-- all that jazz. But now Bucky is showering in the guest room and told Tony he should do the same because he wasn't sleeping next to someone covered in engine grease. That means Tony has someone to sleep next to him. Someone safe and warm that Tony thinks probably won't hurt him. If he was going to, he would have had a far better chance at it while Tony was basically comatose from sleep deprivation. 

It's nice, sleeping with someone. It helps the dreams quite a bit, as long as he doesn't keep his back to the man. Usually he sleeps on top, though. The rise and fall of Bucky's chest helped to lull him to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky wakes up at 3pm, and makes coffee before forcing Tony out of bed. The genius complains loudly until caffeine-- strong and black, no sugar-- is pressed in front of him. Tony hops onto the countertop while Bucky rummages through his kitchen. 

“We should go grocery shopping today,” Bucky suggests as he eyes the empty fridge. Both of their stomachs are growling. 

“Or we can do takeaway. Or eat out somewhere.”

Bucky plops onto the countertop beside Tony-- he is tall enough he doesn't have to jump. The shorter man lays his head on Buckys shoulder. Buckys hand snakes up to pet his hair. He knows Tony secretly loves it, and he has the sneaking suspicion that he is the first person to give Tony any sort of positive contact in far too long. 

The man is touch deprived, desperate for it, but unsure of it at the same time. He loves when Bucky touches him, but tenses because he isn't sure how to react. Which is weird, considering Tony is always poking people, touching their shoulder, their back. Begging for attention, Bucky realizes. 

“You can't always just order in,” Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“Why not?” Tony asks, wondering. When Maria had been alive, they had kept a chef on the property. Afterwards, though, Howard had fired most of the house staff, save for JARVIS. Tony had been hungry and tried to cook scrambled eggs, his first cooking attempt ever, and had set off the fire alarms and nearly lit the kitchen on fire. Howard had beat the shit out of him for ruining his kitchen, and interrupting his work. Tony hadn't cooked since. 

“Because it's expensive? Because it's not good for you? Idk, most people just don't. Besides, we don't have to wait for food to be delivered of its already here in the kitchen for us.”

“Uh, yeah, okay. I mean, if you say so.” Tony looks unsure. He doesn't really care if they have food in the kitchen or not, Tony is totally fine with what he's been doing for the past 10+ years. But if Bucky wanted to go grocery shopping, he would go with the flow. 

“What, you've never gone grocery shopping before?” 

“Nope,” Tony pops the P. 

“Of course not,” Bucky rolls his eyes. 

 

They have to wear disguises, or Tony does. Jeans and a tee, his glasses and a ball cap, and Bucky's jacket because it's getting chilly for the end of October. Actually, Halloween was Saturday. 

Tony didn't think the grocery shopping would be this hard. The customers drive their carts like it's a demolition derby, and they're all in a hurry. There are kids screaming because they didn't get candy. Someone's baby is crying. There are a dozen brands of the same thing, and they're all different prices. Not that price matters, but Tony has no idea which ones are the best brands. He goes to grab the most expensive brand of taco seasoning, thinking it must be the best. But Bucky looks at it, puts it back, and grabs another, cheaper, one, saying it was better. 

He decides to let Bucky do the shopping. They get cereal and coffee and breakfast food like eggs and cinnamon rolls. They ingredients get things to cook things like spaghetti and tacos and pot roast. They get bread and eggs and fruit. Bucky loves plums and purple grapes. Tony loves blueberries and green grapes. They get junk food like chips and cookies and ice cream and chocolate. Tony pays without even looking. 

“You are seriously the worst shopper ever,” Bucky teases on the way out. 

“Considering I've never done it before, I thought I did pretty okay. I mean, most of it looks like real food. It doesn't look like a little kid did the shopping for us.”

Bucky laughs. “That's true. Come on, help me bring these upstairs.” It took several trips, but in the end everything was out away. The kitchen was stocked better than it had ever been, Tony knows that for sure. Even when he had a maid do the shopping it was things like frozen dinners. 

Between the traffic at the store and on the street, the unpacking and their odd work/sleep schedules, it's nearly 9 when they've finished. They had eaten at Subway before they shopped-- Bucky says you're not supposed to shop hungry?-- but their stomachs were growling again. Bucky speaks the dreaded words. 

“Your turn to cook.” He's sitting on top of the counter across from Tony. He's swinging his bare feet are swinging back and forth, and he's staring back at Tony with a little smirk. His eyes crinkle and dance. 

“You're gorgeous, did you know? Has anyone told you yet? Because you should hear that. Frequently. You are incredibly handsome.” 

Bucky throws his head back and laughs, loud and happy. It makes Tony smile. Bucky shakes his head at him, wordlessly, and hops off the counter. 

“Don't try and flirt your way outta cookin’, sugar.” He steps between Tony's legs and kisses him, slow and sweet. After a moment Tony's stomach growls angrily, and Bucky pulls away to the fridge with a chuckle. “I'll show you how to make something decent. It's too late for roast or spaghetti, but tacos?” He words it like a question. 

“See? You're brilliant too! That, right there, is why I keep you around! Perfect. Tacos it is!” Tony hops down after him and fetches the tomato and onion. Bucky digs after the hamburger. “Yummy, like you!”

“Nuh uh, don't just dice the veggies. Come scramble the burger.” 

Bucky turns to check his phone, and laughs. “Clint broke the tv, Natasha's pissed, and can't watch Game of Thrones. He's begging to let them come watch it here.”

“What about Steve?” Tony hates to ask, but he doesn't want to see the man. Certainly doesn't want him in his home. His cheek gives a sympathetic throb. 

“We're not talking to him until he cools down.”

“You're giving him the cold shoulder?” Tony asks in disbelief. 

“More like time-out.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “It'll blow over soon enough.”

“Okay, whatever. None of my business, I guess. I just don't want him here yet.”

“I don't blame you. Hey, don't forget to stir.”

The good thing about tacos is that it shares well. Clint and Natasha rush in-- with overnight bags in hand, what was that about?-- in a flurry of noise and activity. Or, rather, Natasha is yelling at Clint for breaking the tv-- with a wii remote?-- while Clint scolds and tries to wrangle an over excited, three legged mutt. They arrive just in time for Tony and Bucky to cuddled on the couch with plates of tacos. 

The dog, Lucky, was left to bounce around exploring the room, and then the new people. Tony had never had a pet, but Lucky was surprisingly still while Tony stroked his head and his neck, and his fluffy shoulders. He was soft and sort of fat, with long tawny fur. A retriever mix, maybe. He hair wasn't quite long enough, and he was a little smaller. Natasha and Clint entered with more tacos, and they played the new episode. Lucky took his seat on the couch, curled on Clint's left, with Natasha on the right. 

The thing was, it was hard for Clint and Tony to sit still for an entire episode, and about ten minutes in, their collective ADHD proved too much and they were banished from the room for asking too many stupid questions. Lucky followed after them. 

“Sooo whatcha got to do around here?”

“Want a tour?” 

“Sure! Hey, so, how's your face? I mean, it sorts looks pretty awful, but the swelling should go down soon. Bucky been having you ice it?” 

“I'm not completely incompetent, you know. Genius IQ, and all.”

“I don't know, don't you have to be at least walk into a bar to be old enough to be a genius? Short stuff.”

“21 last May, fuck off, Barton. And I've been going into bars since I was fifteen, so. Yeah. Also, you're not much taller! I'm still have time to grow. What are you, thirty? You're stuck like that.” 

“Ha! Sassy, this one is.” 

“You're a terrible Yoda. The only thing you have in common is wrinkles.”

“I'm 24!”

“Whatever. Hey, where is Phil tonight?” 

“Working,” his nose wrinkles in distaste. Tony doesn't do water, so he saves the pool for later when other people are around to distract, and skips to the gym floor. 

“Bummer. What do you guys do, anyway?”

“Government work, sorta classified.” 

“Whatever, I'll just hack it later anyway.”

“Whatever, totally not gonna happen. Let me know how that works out for you.” 

“I will. Viola!” Tony opens the door to the gym, showing off a whole arrange of equipment. A boxing ring sat in the far corner, and gymnastics equipment beside it. The regular stuff like weights and treadmills and bikes are the closest to the door. Clint let's out a low whistle. 

“This is kickass.” 

“Yeah? You like?”

“Hell yeah. Wait, you were a weapons company before; you got a shooting range?”

“Like you wouldn't believe.” Tony grins, charming. Showing off was his element. The shooting range was state of the art, with Tony's own, one of a kind random target projector. The range was filled with physical targets that would pop up from the floor or the wall, drop from the ceiling. But Tony was especially proud of the hologram program he had programmed. You could set the speed, target size, and mother variables. 

Clint grins wickedly. “This is more like it. Come on, bet you ten bucks I can hit more targets in a minute than you.” 

“You're so on.” 

And Tony's good, Clint will admit, but him and Bucky were two of the five best shots in the country. And he wiped the floor with Tony. 

“You hustled me,” Tony fake whines, handing over the money. Clint grins. 

“Me and your Bucky are some of the best shots we've seen in our many great travels.” 

“Okay, first, he isn't MY anything.”

“Can't Bullshit me, Stark. I know you and Bucky have a date Friday.” He wiggles his brows. 

“Okay, is this where you give me the shovel talk?”

“Naw. Don't think I need to.”

Tony stopped, dumbfounded. “Huh. Okay. I mean, thanks.” 

“Don't thank me, you'll see why I don't need to warn you off after you read Buckys file. He can take care of himself.”

“I wouldn't invade his privacy like that. It's his business to tell me that stuff, if he chooses to.”

“But you'd read mine? You liiike him.” He sings under his breath as he follows Tony back the elevator. “Bucky and Tony, sitting in a tree…”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all super awesome readers!!! Thanks so much for the nice comments!! More exciting stuff planned later :)
> 
> Also, I need some costume ideas for Bucky, Tony, Steve? I can't post anything much nore until something comes up, but I have the chapters mostly written up

The show finishes, and Bucky and Natasha are directed to the lab by JARVIS. Tony is showing off his lab, but Clint is mostly ignoring him in favor of playing fetch with Dummy and a wrench. Clint and Natasha crash in one of the many guest rooms, a floor down from Bucky and Tony's. Bucky doesn't even make the pretense of going to his own room, and wraps an arm around Tony's waist on the walk there. 

“How'd you an’ Clint get along?”

“Clints already. Little shit took me for ten bucks in the shooting range, but that's whatever. He loves the bots as much as you do,” Tony grins. 

“Sorry, I shoulda warned you he was a hustler. Pretty sure that's how he makes rent.”

“Funny, because I'm pretty sure he's an assassin? Or a spy, maybe? Something ‘government work, sorta classified’, I guess. Whatever, I'll look it up later.” 

“You say that like it's not illegal,” Bucky chuckles and climbs into bed. Tony climbs half on top of him, his hair tickling Bucky's neck. He kisses the top of Tony's head. “goodnight.” 

 

Tony doesn't sleep that night. He tries, he lays in bed for hours before he just gives up. He thinks about drinking, but he doesn't really want to. Not like usual. So after a couple of hours of cuddling, he slinks off to the living room to brew a pot of coffee and watch animal planet.

He looks into Clint and Natasha, finds them in some obscure government organization, basically bodyguarding. They chaperoned important figures around the globe. 

Natasha sneaks in around 6am, still in pajamas and sleep hair and a terrifying scowl. Tony moves away from her and the coffee pot, and fetches her a mug. A kitten mug. It had honestly been a drunken impulse buy years ago, but he loved them so much he kept replacing them when they got lost or broken. 

Slowly she woke up. She changed the channel to some cooking competition, and they drank the pot companionably. 

“So. You and Bucky?”

“Not like that! It's just-- I don't sleep. Often. And it helps, having him around. You guys don't know, but he's been good for me.” 

“I believe you. But you're not sleeping now.” 

“You got me there. I still usually don't sleep, but now it's not-- it's different. Before, it was lonely and I worked. Like, a lot.”

“Paperwork isn't work?” She quirks a neat brow. 

“You're vicious, you know. Okay, so what does it matter if I don't sleep? I'm more productive, ask my CEO. Hell, ask anybody.”

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Okay. Go at your pace. Going to group on a regular basis would be a good next step, and we can tackle your other issues later.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks. I guess… I think. I mean, you think I should go to group this morning? I can just try a different group. Somewhere else. I think it's best if we keep distance between us, and you know, he was there first. It's no big deal, really. I've gone to a couple already. It's pretty on par. Tony Stark is not exactly a beloved character.”

“I think you should go. Let Steve apologize. I have a hunch he's thinking about drinks Saturday night. It's Halloween, and you're one of us, now. Whether you want to or not. So, you and Bucky need to look for costumes as part of your date tomorrow night. Clint and I are mobsters, and I saw Steve buying something with tights.” She winks at him with a knowing little smirk. 

Natasha shows him how to make pancakes, and doesn't get even a little mad when he burns the first five. It was almost enough to make his heart race, but she had quelled his worried with a joke. She was eerily good at picking up on his feelings, but never used them to her advantage. Instead, she shows him the trick with the popping bubbles, and the next ones are only a little crispy. They cook some sort of sausage Bucky had insisted on buying, and eggs, too. 

The penthouse smells like coffee and pancakes and spicy sausage when the clock nears 8, and the food finished cooking. They went their separate ways to wake their boys. 

Tony rushed in, fully intending to jump on the bed, but collided against Bucky's chest just inside the bedroom. Tony let's a squeak of surprise and lands on his ass. Bucky stumbled back, looking lost. Tony hesitates, recognizing one of Buckys ‘oh, shit, what the hell is happening’, faces. His Nemo face. 

“Bucky?” He asks, tentative. Bucky blinks hard, and stares down at him for a second. Recognition slowly dawns on his face. 

“Tony?” He hesitates, before stooping down to where Tony still sat on the floor. He sweeps him up in a tight hug. Tony can feel him shaking through the thin sleep shirt 

“You okay, Bucky bear?” 

Bucky nods against Tony's shoulder. “I woke up and didn't recognize anything. I didn't know where I was… I thought something bad had happened. I didn't know what, but I just knew something was wrong. You're okay? Nat and Clint? They're alright?”

“Yeah, Buck. Everyone's good here. Come on, you can come see for yourself. I bet they're already in the kitchen, eating breakfast.”

But he shakes his head. “Naw, I have to call Stevie. I have to make sure Steve is alright.” 

He doesn't run, but it's a close thing. It's early, but Steve has probably been up for hours. He answers on the second ring. 

“Morning, Buck. I wasn't expecting to hear from you until group; what's up?”

“Where are you? You okay?”

“I'm still at home, still in Brooklyn. I worked last night, just got back in. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Fine now, I just woke up bad, is all. I'm good, now. I'll see you in group tomorrow.”

“Yeah, Buck. You will,” he reassured. “See you tomorrow.” The line clicks. 

Tony looks up from his spot on the bed. “Is Steve okay?” He checks, because Tony knows how important Steve is to Bucky. And, despite everything, Tony figures that if Bucky and Natasha and Clint are friends with the guy, then there must be something else there that Tony hasn't seen yet. He can't be all bad, if these are the friends he keeps. 

“Good! Great! See, everybody's fine. It's already an amazing Thursday morning, and we have nothing to do all day. Whatcha wanna do? I mean, obviously breakfast first.”

“Coffee first. Well, actually, Tony first.” He pecks Tony on the lips. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. Breakfast?” 

“Mmm, yes. How'd you sleep, doll? When'd you get up?”

“Natasha and I made pancakes and eggs and that spicey sausage thing you got yesterday? I hope you didn't have plans for that. Nat sorta just picked it out, and I went with it. It's probably best not to argue with her, she's a badass. Oh! I look those two up. So, what, they're glorified bodyguards? Still cool, I was just expecting something a little-- I don't know, mob related?” 

“No, drama queen. She moved from Russia when she was 18. With me and Clint, actually. We met her on this summer thing we did, it was wild.”

“And then?” Tony doesn't remember Bucky talking about his past this much before.

Bucky shrugs. “Steve ran off to the army, and we all just sort of followed after him. You can probably guess the rest.” He sort of shrugs his prosthetics. 

“Come on, hot stuff. On to better and brighter things. Like pancakes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't post the next chapter until I get a couple Steve, Tony, and Bucky costume ideas :( anyone? *chirpchirp* anyone? Message me on my account, or post here I guess? More to come!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to charlotte123456789 for the beautiful ideas!! Please comment and kudos below! Comments are the air I breath and also I'm a super needy person who needs validation on her writing. Ideas are appreciated! And little requests too!

Natasha had already brought Clint and Lucky in, and Clint was shoveling food in. The dog napped under his chair, so pathetically exhausted looking that Tony pitied it. Briefly he wondered if you could give dogs coffee, but thinks better of it. 

They enjoy a slow morning of tv and snatching leftover bits from breakfast. Natasha and Clint argued over the remote, fighting like siblings more than lovers. Tony and Bucky cuddle with Lucky on the couch. It was warm and soft, and Tony's mind finally started to slow. His eyes began to drop, and he wished vaguely for bed. 

“What time is your meeting, Tones?” Bucky speaks low in his ear. 

“Later. Like, 7. It's a dinner meeting. It's gonna be horrible. I don't want to go.” 

“Well, you have a while yet. Don't think I didn't catch that earlier, by the way; You avoided my question, earlier. You didn't sleep last night, did you?”

Tony shook his head. 

“You wanna sleep a little? While you can? I'll show Nat and Clint around, hang out a little. You can call us whenever you want. Or, I'll see you tonight. No way you're getting out of group tomorrow,” he adds. 

“No, I might as well stay up. I can do paperwork, did you guys want to borrow my driver? One of the cars?”

“What do you want to do, Tony?” Clint asks. Apparently, the attention had turned to him now. 

“Hell, I don't know! I usually work and get drunk. I haven't done this ‘friends’ thing since, like, college. And that was mostly fucking and getting drunk. Not necessarily in that order, but specifics hardly matter. So-- what do you guys want to do? I mean, what, is everybody magically free today?” 

“Yup. Looks like you're stuck with us, pal.” 

They spend Thursday playing around Tony's tower like an an amusement park. They swam in the pool in their underwear; and Clint and Natasha were hot, but Bucky was stunning. He was ripped and tan and Tony sort of had a thing for that metal arm. Tony himself begged it off with some bullshit he doesn't even remember, and lounges by the side, discreetly doing paperwork on his Starkpad. Far, far away from the water. 

Clint and Bucky were basically trying to drown each other. It was a little unsettling at first, but eventually Tony was able to drown them out enough that it didn't trigger him. They came out several hours later for lunch. Clint and Tony made grilled cheese, something not even he could burn. So they made a dozen of them, and a big pot of soup. 

“So. Saturday. You know we're going to wind up at a bar one way or another, and you two need costumes. So, which way you going? Cute couple? Gay hipster? Super slut?” Clint slurps loudly away at his bowl of soup. 

“Costume shopping! Yes! I know this shop down on Washington, it's probably our best chance of finding something decent this late in the year. A week ago, I didn't think I would be doing anything other than enjoying pumpkin spice lattes.” 

"You like punkin spice lattes?" Clints nose curls in distaste. 

"Yup! They're the best part about fall."

"Whatever, Tony. You're such a white girl."

Everyone dressed casually, Tony with his usual crappy sunglasses/ball cap disguise. It was flimsy, but Tony would rather avoid a mob of people making a big deal out of him costume shopping. With people, even, heaven fucking forbid. Call the press, everyone, Tony Stark dresses as Frankenstein's Monster! Whatever. Tony basically bribed the desk girls to hand over their phones so they couldn't take pictures, and they closed down the shop. Tony would compensate them later. 

Bucky tries on a couple of silly ones, an adult ‘snake’ charmer, Groot, a funky pimp costume. There are a couple of truly horrible ones, like the Seinfeld Kramer or the Aloha Gorilla, with the lei and grass skirt. 

Tony couldn't resist the schoolgirl outfit, earning gross noises from Clint and a wolf whistle from Bucky. Sexy fireman and wolf are also favorites. They think Einstein might be a bit cliche, and they don't even get the Hannibal suit. He thinks Nat would probably love watching Hannibal-- it was right up her alley. 

They try on couples costumes-- Tony has no problem wearing a skirt, so he dresses as Red Riding Hood, and Bucky is the wolf; Harley Quinn and The Joker, Alice and The Hatter. Tony begs Bucky to try on the rainbow unicorn outfit, complete with fuzzy boots, fuzzy rainbow shorts, matching suspenders and a fabulous horn headband. Natasha and Clint are dying, and the sales girls are trying to keep their form. Tony considers taking pictures in appreciation. Bucky stands there with the worst bitch face Tony has seen in his entire life as a businessman. And he has seen thousand, but Bucky had, by far, mastered it. 

“All of you suck,” he comments dryly, turning back to the dressing rooms. 

They try Stormtroopers and aliens and vampires. Bucky looks amazing in something shirtless, but Tony knows the man will most likely pick something with a shirt to cover the scars around his arm. 

None of them notice Tony picks outfits with closed backs. In fact, none of them have seen him shirtless before, and it is very much on purpose. Nobody should have to see the scarred flesh that covers his back. 

It takes them hours to find the perfect costumes. At first, Bucky is against it. Clint thinks its fantastic, he loves it, and Natasha just raises an amused brow. 

“This is it, this is the one.” Tony emerges from the dressing room in a… Well, in a dress. A short blue skirt with a yellow bodice, showing off plenty of shapely thigh. Snow White. Tony Stark was dressed as the sluttiest Disney Princess Bucky has ever seen. 

“Isn't it a bit… Short?” Bucky wonders. He can nearly see Tony's ass peaking out from under the skirt. “And, for women? I thought those dresses were jokes.” 

Tony raises a challenging brow, and Bucky backpedals. “Not that you don't look swell!”

“I'm sure the media will agree with you, but I'll spin it as a rape, and victim shaming awareness thing. The press will love it, it'll be great. Besides, it comes with a huntsman costume, too.” 

It was mostly leather. Black leather pants that hugged his ass and thighs like a second skin, a leather belt to sheath the plastic knife and sword-- was there supposed to be a sword?-- and a leather vest. 

Bucky decided he hated the vest. It was confining and too hot to wear in a sweaty club, the material too thick. Beside him, Tony glances up to look at him. 

“We don't look half bad.” Tony approves. He spins and looks over his shoulder, admiring his own ass in the mirror. 

“Tony worry, I'll shave.” He grins wickedly. This man is going to be the death of him, Bucky knows. 

***  
Tony has to call it around 5, and he drops everyone off in their Brooklyn homes. He has to speed home to change into a suit and tie, and he fixes his hair into the stylishly messy look that makes him look like a douche. He has a reputation to uphold, after all. 

The investors squabble over petty things, like the fact Tony donated water purifiers and medical equipment to some third world country that the heartless old bastards don't care about. They tell him he should go back to weapons manufacturing, and Tony gives them a more charming version of what he told Ross. 

“Let Justin and Hammer Industries tear the world apart. Stark industries is moving one step forward, and the future is green, renewable energy. And all of us here know that we are number one in clean energy, and medical. Because, frankly, I am the best. But you know that, which is why you're here. Am I right? 

“Investors like you make it possible to give back to our nation's heroes, the veteran amputees coming home. Free of charge, as a thank you for serving our country. And you are helping to get them there. That is a way better advertising, for you; to be seen giving to medical, to war heros. You can't put a price on freedom, ladies and gentlemen.” Tony thinks that if he says ‘freedom’ enough times, they'll give. Now they're just playing hard to get. 

It works. He walks away with 50 million dollars in investments. A drop in the bucket. He climbs into bed and tucks himself against Buckys chest, finally tired.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New warnings, guys! Please review above. Also, should I maybe out up some sort of, like, story summary? If so, any ideas? As always, you guys are amazing!! Thank you for the comments! I love all of them as much as I love exclamation marks!!! Haha, anyway, I hope you like all the costumes! I hope I do our favorite babies justice =^-^=
> 
> Also, per usual, the little ** is stuff that you should read with caution. Or skip. You know, nightmarey things. Sorry!

He sleeps fitfully. He's turned into his side, fingers clenched in the sheets. His face, even in sleep, in screwed in fear. His breath stutters, and his hands press closer to his chest. His knees draw up. 

**  
Tony is thirteen. It's the night before everyone goes home for the summer, and Tony leaves for MIT. Graduation was yesterday, but Howard had been unable to come, and JARVIS wouldn't be there to pick him up until tomorrow. Ty was a senior, too, but obviously older; Tony was always the youngest and smallest person, wherever he went. Ty had snuck into his room, and they spent their last night together fucking and drinking until they passed out. 

Someone had taken pictures, and posted them online. Needless to say, they made it back to Howard before Tony had. The teen was still hungover from the night before, and Howard was still drinking from the night before. The older man had been on a working binge, had surfaced to shower and shave before Tony arrived, and had found explicit pictures of his underage son posted all over the media.

Most of them were censored by now, but Obadiah had taken the liberty of screenshot ring several before they were reported, and emailing them to Howard. Treacherous bastard. Tony stepped out of the car, and Howard had ordered Jarvis away sharply. Then, he had rounded on Tony with a drunken fury. 

Tony felt so much smaller than he remembers. Howard pulled him into the house by the scruff of his neck, and let Tony fall onto the polished entryway floor. 

“W-what-- what did I do?” Tony stutters. Howard hates when he stutters. 

Howard backhanded the boy when he stood again, and threw a punch into his stomach for good measure. If Tony hadn't vomited literally everything out of his stomach already just a few hours before, he'd be doing the same thing now. Instead, he gags and stomach acid comes up. 

His father pulls him up by his wrist, bruising and twisting when Howard pulls it behind his back. 

“Ah!” Tony gasps as pain shoots up his arm. “Ow, ow, St-Stop! Please?” 

Howard fists a hand in Tonys hair and forces him to walk down the series of halls, all the way to his fathers study. When he stumbles, Howard forces him back up again. 

“I will not be some drunken faggot whore, fucking his way across the country. Do you hear me?” 

“Y-yes, sir!” Tony cried out. He doesn't know how Howard found out about Tyberius, but he is as pissed as Tony has ever seen him. 

“Look what's on the front page of that fucking paper.” He shoves Tony at the desk. It's Tony, censored but obviously naked. Some show the legs of an unknown man, pressed close behind him, others just show him passed out. The thing is, Tony doesn't remember-- any of it, really. 

“Dad, that's not-- not, uh,” Tony flounders for his answer while Howard waits impatiently. “I- I'm sorry. I didn't tell him to take pictures! I don't-- I don't think- I mean, I don't remember that. Sir.” Tony stutters, his heart in his throat. His father smacks him, and Tony shuts up. Howard hits him as he yells, breath smelling of booze. Tony probably doesn't smell much better. 

“I don't give a shit if you're drunk and sleeping around. As long as your brains and grades make up for it, nobody gives a shit.” Tony's arms give out, and he protect is his head. 

“If that had been a girl you were caught fucking, I'd give you a pack of condoms and tell you not to kiss a whore on the mouth.” His boots land hard against Tony's back, knocking the air out of his lungs. He can't quite catch his breath before another blow lands. 

“But you will not be another godless fag! We are a family built on traditional American values, not taking dick up the ass!” 

“Sorry! Stop, please,” 

**

Tony's trapped in the dream until he wakes Bucky up with his kicking. His arms are in front of his chest, protective as always. Bucky grand his shoulder gently, trying to wake him. 

“Tony? Tony, come on, you need to wake up, doll.” 

He wakes with a little gasp, like all the times before. Bucky is close enough to feel his whole body shaking. 

With a yelp, Tony jumps off the bed, away from whoever is behind him. Too close. 

“Tony? Sugar? It's just me, just Bucky. Remember? We're in New York, in the tower. Just us.” Tony remembers, but the sound of Bucky rambling helps to calm him. Tony stands up straight, but keeps his arms crossed over his heart. He listens to Bucky, and wills his heart to slow. He takes in the blue night lights that, thankfully, nobody has commented on. 

“It's 2015, Friday, October 30th. You with me?”

Tony nods. “Can- I mean. K- Keep talking? Please?” 

“Sure. Sure, darlin’” Buckys voice was nice. “We have group tomorrow. You'll get to see Nat and Clint. And you can embarrass Steve a little. I was thinking lunch afterward. We have dinner later. Tomorrow's Halloween.” Bucky smirks a little, and wiggles his brow suggestively. . “You think it counts as a second date?” 

Tony let's a little puff of laughter. “Thanks.”

“You good?”

“Yeah, peachy.” 

“Sure, darlin. You wanna come back to bed? Talk about it?” 

Slowly, Tony shakes his head. “No, I can't sleep now. But, um, you should go ahead. And sleep, I mean. I'm just going to do paperwork, it'll be fine.” 

“It's not fine of it's giving you bad dreams.”

“Yeah, see, that's weird. That, right there. The caring thing. Like, what's in it for you? Someone always wants something. Nothing is ever free, you guys are putting, like, a lot of time into me. Don't think I haven't noticed, you've been calling into work to stay and babysit Tony Stark, supposed genius.”

“No, Tony, no. You got it all wrong, Tones. Listen, you're a good person who I think got handed some shitty fuckin’ cards. But you made the best out of everything you've been through. You turned a weapons company into the number one name in medical and all that green energy stuff. You're amazing, but. Like I said, shitty cards. And you need a little help with sorting through and dealing with all that bullshit. And, trust me, it's hard. But that's why we're here. We wanna help.” 

Bucky pats the bed beside him, and offers to cuddle. Tony sits on the bed again, but doesn't move closer. 

“Steve and I enlisted when we were both 18. Steve had been scrawny when he was younger, and really had to work hard to make it. I shipped off before he did, and Steve kept training. He was always stubborn. Anyway, uh, I was a sniper, I was good, I guess. Got pinned down though, one night. Taken back to some camp with about a half a dozen others. We were there for months before Steve pissed off enough people to get motivated, and he just sort of… Idk, stormed the gates, I guess. Crazy asshole. Anyway, I know what it is, to be just stick, and useless.” 

“I had no idea,” Tony mumbles. 

“It was a long time ago. I was twenty two, and I was done after. As soon as I healed and finished the therapy stuff, the VA set me up with my first arm. It was almost like having my real one, but this one is way better.”

Good, that's good. That's great.” Tony sounds distracted. 

“What's up?”

“Nothing, just…” He pauses, considering if he wants to share or not. “That isn't what my dream was about. Yeah. Just, uh, funky dream. Daddy issues” he rolls his eyes. “No big.”

“I don't know much about that sort of thing, but Clint does. You could call him, he wouldn't mind. Really.”

“I'm not going to wake Clint at- at- at almost, Jesus; it's almost 3 am. This is ridiculous. Why are you even here?” 

“Because I thought I could help. Is it even a little better, when I'm here? Am I helping at all? Because, you know, I really care about you. Clint an’ Tasha, too.”

“I'm not calling Clint. Go back to bed,” Tony tried. 

Bucky rolls his eyes and hops out of bed like doesn't desperately want to go back to sleep. They make their way out of the bedroom. Tony goes to the kitchen and Bucky turns on the tv. 

“You hungry?” Tony yells. He spies some dip, and grabs a bag of chips from the pantry. He flops onto the couch, tablet and food in hand, to see Bucky had already put on a movie. Lilo and Stitch, a classic. Instead of sleeping, they watch movies until they leave for the meeting.


	15. Chapter 15

Everyone else is already there when Bucky and Tony arrive. They don't even make the pretense of crappy coffee, just take their seats silently. Tony has been tense all morning, in apprehension of seeing Steve again. 

“Good morning, Steve.” Tony greets. He supposed he should start with a first-name-basis if he wants to help work things out. 

“Hey, Tony.”Steve replies in his most apologetic voice, with the most unfair puppy face Tony has ever seen. Next to Buckys, maybe. “I want to apologize for what happened the other day, last week in group. That was over the line, and uncalled for, and I want to tell you I'm sorry. And then I'm hoping we can work things out.” Steve offers his hand to shake. Tony doesn't want to offend by not taking it, but he really, really doesn't want to. 

“I, uh, have a thing. A being handed things, thing. It's, uhm, call it a quirk.” Thankfully, Steve doesn't seem to take offense. 

“Oh, alright then. So, we're good?”

“Yeah, big guy, were good. Just, you know, no more face-punching, if you can help it.” Tony's face was still bruised, but it was through the worst. The edges were tinged yellow now, and the swelling had gone down days ago. 

“I'll do what I can,” Steve smiles humuringly. “I was thinking about going to 60 below tomorrow night. it's supposed to be super exclusive, but since Buck and I are employees, we can get everyone in. I was hoping you'd come?”

Tony nods, “yeah, I heard something about that. I'll be there. What time were you guys thinking about meeting up?” He includes the rest of the group on the conversation now. 

“I was thinking ten,” Bruce suggests, but is turned away. 

“Too early, everyone will be trashed by two. I was thinking closer to midnight,” Tony amends. 

“Okay. So how does eleven sound?” Steve acts as mediator. Everyone agrees. 

Sam starts the meeting off. They go around the circle slowly, sharing. 

“I got a call from my father yesterday. He, uh, didn't say much. No surprise there. They made him call as part of his treatment, but he hasn't changed. I can tell. And I guess I've been thinking, you know, what if he gets out?” The man wrongs his hands, anxious. 

“I know. I know it's a slim chance, but it's still possible, and he may be old now, but that man is evil.” Bruce shakes his head frantically, curls bouncing. 

“Brucie, after the things he did to you and your mother, nobody is going to let him go free, whether they think he's ‘cured’ or now.” Tony offers. And it's true. Nobody is going to let a man who murdered his wife, and locked his young boy in the basement, go free. 

“Logically, I know. I do. And I know it will get better again.”

Everyone shares today, except Tony. Until Bruce finishes, it's Tony's turn, and Bucky squeezes his hand reassuringly, reminding him about their conversation that morning. He speaks, but only because he knows Bucky wants him to. 

“Speaking of daddy issues. Not to outshine our dear Brucie, but. Yeah. I still have nightmares, too. About Howard. I sort of bad one, uh, last night.” Tony talks low, like he's ashamed. “I woke Bucky, and I didn't want to sleep again, so we just, you know, stayed up.” 

“What was it about?” Sam asks. Tony deliberated for a moment, but decided it was okay. It wasn't even in his top ten Worst Things. 

“It was a memory, from when I was about to start MIT. It was the beginning of the summer before, and I had graduated from some posh boarding school. There was a party, and I got drunk with my boyfriend, at the time. Ty, not that it matters. 

“We all got drunk, totally trashed. I guess we fucked, which is no big. But, uh, I guess someone had taken pictures, because they were all over the news the next morning. Howard found out, and beat the absolute shit out of me. I had to stay out of camera view for weeks until the injuries healed. But uh, yeah. That, that was my show-and-tell.” 

“Good job, Tony. Thanks for sharing. That was good.” Sam, thankfully, ends things before Tony can get anxious from the scrutiny he was feeling. “Let's call it a wrap, ladies and gents. Tomorrow is Halloween, so remember: don't drink and drive. I want to see all of you again Monday. Have a great weekend, stay safe out there.” 

The meeting draws to a close, but on their way out the door Clint pulls Tony aside. “Hey, man. You know, if you ever want to talk, you can call. I put my number in here. Tasha's, too.” Clint hands him his phone, which Tony thought was in his pocket. Apparently not. 

“Did I drop this? Somewhere?”

“Naw, I nabbed it outta your pocket,” he grins. 

“Asshole damn ninja,” Tony grumbles. 

Bruce winds up coming back to Tony's after, to science and help Tony ‘figure his wardrobe shit out’. They bring shawarma back to the penthouse, Tony and Bruce work in the lab for several hours. 

“TADA! Meet the newest and best addition to Stark Industries; BARF! Binarily Augmented Retro Framing. It's a projector for your memories, for therapeutic purposes. Dealing with past trauma, and the like.”

“Tony, this is revolutionary. Do you know what this could do? It changes the world of mental health. How does it work? Connecting to the hippocampus?”

Tony answers the same time as Bruce says it, “the hippocampus, yeah. Pretty neat, huh?”

“Tony! This is amazing.” 

“Not yet, but it will be. I wanted your opinion on an implant, I know biology is a little more your thing.”

How far have you gotten?” 

The pair spend all afternoon in the lab, and the product of that is a half-hatched blueprint for an implant design. Tony is leaning towards the sunglasses idea. 

Finally, JARVIS reminds him to shower, and Bruce helps to sort through his wardrobe. He knew Tony was partial to wearing layers, when he had to wear casual clothes in public. Bruce knows the place Bucky is taking Tony, and knows it's lax dress code. However, it was a cozy environment, and Tony was a tactile man. No doubt he would be pressed against Buckys side all night. 

With that in mind, Bruce finds some worn slacks, ones Tony would never wear for a formal function. In the back of his closet he finds an incredibly soft, red sweater. Really, the thing is criminally soft, and probably ridiculously expensive. A gift, likely from Pepper, because there was no way Tony bought this for himself. While Tony's favorite colors were red and gold, Tony tarely bought clothes with color. They were usually greys and blacks, maybe with a little color on a printed tee, or something. Still, a far cry from the Crimson sweater. 

Tony emerges from the shower shaved and draping a towel across his hips. Bruce has seen the scars, but they hit him the same every time. He has to quiet swell of rage that rises whenever he sees them.

Long, thin scars that cover Tony's back, whip marks. The little explosion of healed gashes and pock marks on his chest from the shrapnel. Tony had grown used to having Bruce look at him, but Bruce doubted he would ever get used to looking. The whip marks on Tony's back dip below the towel on his hips, and there's one spot where a mess of scars scramble what could have been a word, carved into his back. Bruce has never had the courage the look into it further. 

“Here. Mama Bella's is informal, but the atmosphere is very romantic. This sweater is soft enough, Bucky should enjoy having you cuddle next to him.”

Tony dresses, but his face screws. “Hmm, I'm not sold on the sweater. Where did you even find this thing? It's a bit, I don't know, bright. It's very ‘don't let me enemies see me bleed.’ On second thought, i like it.”

It looks good, too, with his dark hair and tanned skin. It was tight enough to to show off his light muscles, and warm enough for the night chill. Bruce was right, it was impossibly soft. Tony was already running his hands over the material. He admires his beard for the last time in a while, and does his hair. 

Bucky picks him right on time, and directs Tony where to drive while they hold hands in the car. Tony thinks it's strange, but maybe he could get used to this whole new ‘soft touch’ thing. It was nice to be touched and not hurt. 

The diner was small and sort of dressy-casual. Tony and Bucky fit right in. Tony ordered a wine, Bucky admitting to be in knowledgeable on the subject, and indiscriminate about wines anyway. Bruce was right, though; Bucky keeps binning his hands over Tony-- his back, his arm, his side. 

Bucky tells him about the better parts of traveling for the army. He doesn't tell Tony exactly what he did during his enlistment, but it certainly involved a lot of traveling. He makes Tony laugh about the time a trained monkey had stolen Steve's wallet. Or when Steve and Bucky had babysat their neighbors baby for the first time, and Steve couldn't change its diaper, and had actually cried until Bucky had helped to calm both him and the upset infant.

Tony tells Bucky a censored version of the time he Dummy had emptied all of the fire extinguishers into one of Tony's classic ‘50’s Stingray after he had dropped a smoking cigarette butt under it. And the time he had blown up one of Howard's labs when he was 5. Be doesn't tell him how Howard beat him black and blue, had locked him in a closet and forgotten about him for days, until Jarvis had found him the following week day. 

The conversation goes long into the night, until they kiss goodnight, and grudgingly separate until the next day. Tony goes back to the tower and tries to sleep, but it isn't the same without Bucky there.


	16. Chapter 16

**

It's 9am, and I just got off work. I should be sleeping, but the pot bunnies are keeping me up. So!

 

**  
It's been days, he knows, but he's lost track of how many. Tony doesn't want to think about it. He lets Yinson do the counting, and Tony rests while he can. There is only a couple of hours in the day he isn't being drowned or beaten or fucked. The breaks are staggered around the shift changes, cause most of the men only get to fuck him once a day. 

When he isn't busy being fucking tortured, they bring him back to rest for an hour or two in their cell. They drop him just inside, and leave. As soon as they're gone Yinson rushes forward to help him walk to a bed. He shakes as the old man distracts him, or tries to, with hopeful plans of escape. Whatever they attempt, they only get one shot at. This is a do-or-die-trying kind of thing. 

He's stalled for nearly a month already. They had left him alone with Yinson to heal for the first three weeks. After that, it all blurs into pain and screaming and shame. 

They come to get him again. He doesn't dare count how many days, because then he'll have to count how many men per day, and then how many total and Tony doesn't think he can do that. He can't let himself break like that. Not yet. They've almost got a plan, but he can't break yet. 

They don't even bother with the super villain speech anymore. They hold him down, naked to the floor, and ask if he wants to work for them yet. 

“Go to hell.” Tony fights on autopilot. The real Tony is hiding somewhere deep inside his mind, far away from this desert shit show. He feels numb, and detached from his body like this. It doesn't hurt so badly when he lets himself drift away. 

Except they drown him today. They know it's one of the worst things they can do to him-- that, and the rape. It keeps him there, in the present, where everything hurts. Where they keep him on the edge of panic, and his mind can't just wander off because the red alarms in his brain go constantly. The oxygen deprivation tells him he's dying, and that is not conducive to mental health and safety. He can't wander off, he can't drift away. 

So they bring in the water bucket first. The largest man forces Tony's hands away from his healing chest. The area is still purple from the deep bruising, and there are little nicked scars from the shrapnel. Yinson had removed those and the ones in his heart with an impromptu surgery. Anesthetic free, which Tony happened to be awake for. Minor detail. 

Tony's arms were wrenched behind his back, and the man straddled his back. One hand kept Tony's wrists in place, the other fisted in his hair and forced his face down. Tony knew it was better not to fight, that he was better off remaining calm and not panicking. He would use less oxygen that way. 

But Tony screams into the water. He can feel something nudging at his hole again, colder and with less give than the spongy head of a dick. He bucks forward in a vain attempt to escape, but the weight on top of him keeps him pinned. The object penetrates past the first ring, and he can feel a sharp point. He chokes on water, thrashing, but not going anywhere under his confines. The thing is pressed further in, and Tony is desperate for air now. Black fills in from the sides of his vision. 

Only when he stops struggling do they let him up for air. Howard is there, scowling down at him. He's taller than Tony remembers. 

“You always were a disappointment. At least someone found a use for you, other than getting in the way and ruining things. You always broke everything you touched. You break everything you touch.” Howard repeats. Tony shakes his head, but they're shoving him under the water again. Funny, he can still hear his father's voice. 

“You break everything, you break everything, you break everything.” 

The water feels warmer, burning his face. It steams and boils, and hurts. It splashes onto his chest and scalds his tender scars. The man thrusting into him stalls, but now it's Howard holding his head under the water. It's Howard drowning him, screaming at him to hurry up, to make the weapons. To do it, because real men fight. Tony isn't fighting hard enough. He isn't trying hard enough. 

He screams, and Howard let's him breath again for a moment. 

“You're a whore! You're such a tramp, your clothes practically advertise it. ‘Enter here,’ above your ass. You never shut your god damned mouth, nobody could tell a difference between the gaping holes.” Tony looks down at the yellow bodice, the blue skirt. It was shrinking by the second, tight and constricting. He could hear it ruffle, now, with every thrust of the man inside him. It hurts, God it hurts. Tony can feel something inside of him tear, and he screams. 

“Bucky!” 

The water is boiling, burning his face as Howard shoves him under the water again. Everywhere it splashes scalds his skin; he can feel his flesh pulling away, cooked off his skin. 

“Bucky!” He sobs, the pain overwhelming. “Bucky! Please! Help me, please. Bucky!”

**

He wakes, shivering and sick to his stomach. There is no boiling water now, cooking his skin away. He isn't in a dress-- his Halloween costume, what was that all about?--The room is dark, save the blue lights that remind him where he is. It's enough, but only just. He rolls over, wanting to be safe and held. His arm hits cold, empty air. His heart freezes in fear. 

“B-Buck? Bucky?” Tony whimpers, hating how small he sounds; how small he feels.   
Tears are brimming at his eyes, and he remembers Bucky isn't here. It's just Tony again, alone. His heart hammers painfully in his chest, each beat a sharp stab deep inside his chest. He can't breath, the memories of the boiling water still suffocating him. 

The dam breaks. Tony choked, the tears finally overflowing onto his cheeks. He scrambles to the bathroom, because the bed is too big and the room is too dark and it's making him sick. 

He pukes everything in his stomach, and then some. He shivers on the floor until even JARVIS asks if he was okay, and the AI was desensitized to Tony's drunk and hungover vomiting.

Several hours, and one near panic attack later, he's curled in the chair in the living room, wearing the jacket Bucky had forgotten here. Animal planet playa on the television, and Tony brews coffee and sits alone until the sun comes up. Which sucks, because he really, really doesn't want to be alone right now. He sort of wishes bucky would call, so he could talk to someone. 

He would drink, but being around people-- Bucky, in particular,-- has Tony trying this new self-care thing. It fucking sucked. 

The sun rose later in the morning than it had a week ago. The nights were getting longer, and colder. Winter would be there soon. Once the room was filled with light from the large windows, Tony drifted off to a fitful sleep again, still curled in the chair with Buckys hoodie. 

 

The other come crashing in, in the early afternoon. Tony's gotten several hours of desperate, fearful sleep. JARVIS must still be running on last week's protocol, because he lets Bucky and company up without an alert to Tony, dozing in the living room. In his not-boyfriends jacket. He must look pathetic. Oddly enough, the ache in his chest eases as the room fills. First with Bucky, then the ninja twins, and Steve. 

So, it's the noise that wakes him. Lucky comes barreling in, all kisses and wiggles. He hops right into Tony's lap, who is still blinking the fog out of his drowsy mind. He rubs the dust out of his eyes, and pets lucky, who smells like apples. He must have gotten a bath that morning. Clint was a good puppy dad. Except, he's wearing a little pizza costume. 

“Oh my god. Clint, you didn't! I know you did NOT dress this poor baby boy in a crappy costume.”

“It's not crappy! He's my pizza dog!”

Natasha and Clint both dressed in nice, old fashioned suits with hats and pocket watches. Obviously old-type mobsters. Natasha's suit was all black and red, fitted just as well as a little black dress. The suit was tailored, and beautiful. Clints was similar, but black and purple instead. Steve was with them already, dressed in… Tony bursts into immediate laughter, burying his face in the dog to stifle the sound. 

“Holy shit! Oh my god! St-S-Steve!” Tony gasps. “Are those TIGHTS?”

“They're leggings! And they came with the costume. I was told we were doing Robin Hood: Men in Tights. I thought everyone was going to be merry men.” He mumbles, blushing. 

“And we were going to. Before you punched Tony in the face,” Natasha adds, bluntly. 

“Well, you'll still be the biggest, scariest guy there. I mean, unless Mongo from Blazing Saddles shows up. Or Chewbacca.”

Steve laughs, smiling. “Thanks, Tony.”

Bucky looks hot. Not, like, GQ magazine, suit and tie hot. Not like Natasha and Clint tonight. No, Bucky is ‘bend me over and make me forget my name’ hot. He wore the leather pants, the plastic knife and sword. He did wear the vest, but it hung open and showed off those washboard abs, and that ridiculously attractive V thing on his hips. Speaking of, holy shit, hip bones, Bucky's were peaking above the pants. They were fit low enough that Tony was sure pubic hair should be showing. His hair hung loose around his face. 

“I was thinking about putting eyeliner on him,” Natasha muses, watching the way Tony stared. 

“Yes. Yes, that is happening. Yup.”

Bucky grins, wicked. “Like what ya see, doll?” 

“Yes. Yeah, very much so. You- you are Adonis. Hell, you make Adonis look like the cyclops.”

“Come get coffee with me. Let's make eggs.” Bucky sort of strongly suggests. 

Bucky actually skips the bargaining with sleepy Tony, and then the caffeinate him part, and just picks him up. Like, actually picks Tony up by his waist, and holds him on his hip like the not-so-big toddler he is. 

Apparently the new arm is strong enough to hold Tony easily, and so is Bucky. Not that Tony didn't suspect, but it was nice to know. He nuzzled his nose into Bucky's shoulder. At some point he must have taken the sword and knife and crap off, because it certainly wasn't in the way. 

He carries Tony into the kitchen and sets him on the counter. He brews a fresh pot of coffee, and sits next to Tony so he can wrap his real arm around him. Tony snuggles into him like a leech-- or a sleepy toddler. 

“You are gorgeous,” Tony mumbles, staring at him blearily. 

“And you're still in your pajamas,” Bucky chides. “Did you not sleep again?” 

Tony watches his brows crease with worry, and rolls his eyes. “I'm 21, I can handle a few sleepless nights. Besides, I was sleeping! As a matter of fact, you and pizza mutt woke me up.”

“Okay, sorry about that.” He doesn't look sorry at all. In fact, he rolls his eyes. “When did you fall asleep?” 

“Like, 9am,” Tony grumbles. 

“Sorry, Tones, that sucks. Have you thought about seeing a doctor for some sleep aid?”

Tony shrugs, “I'll think about it.” 

“So-- egg scramble stuff, or waffles?”


	17. Chapter 17

They made waffles. Well, they tried to make waffles, but between the billionaire with undiagnosed ADHD, a dog, and Clint, most of the batter wound up being repurposed. 

Bucky looked for the syrup and Tony moved the batter to make room for the waffle iron. Clint rushed in with Lucky, yelling about a new trick. Tony walks behind them to move the batter, and Clint pats his chest. The dog jumps, Clint stumbles under the weight-- was that a trick?-- and knocks poor Tony back. The batter goes flying, most of it landing on Tony and Lucky. The bowl rolls around the floor. 

“Damnit, Clint. No dogs in the kitchen!” Natasha yells, pointedly not coming to help with the mess. 

Bucky looks down at the puddle of fur and limbs and waffle batter and breaks into laughter. The belly-rolling, head thrown back kind that Tony loves. 

“Get the hell off me, Barton.” Tony pretend snarls. 

“Yeah, yeah. Shit! Did I get any on my suit?” He spins comically until Bucky stops him. Of course, Tony was content to watch him soon until he fell over, but whatever. 

“A little on your back, hang on.” Tony is the king of suit stains, and he's back with a towel and some sort of cleaner. He hands it to Bucky with instructions not to rub. Tony takes pizza dog-- they're both covered in batter-- and they both shower. He makes Clint dry the dog, though. He shaves while he's in, hating that he has to, but it is for a cause. He wasn't kidding about turning this into a victim awareness thing. He loved using the media to his own gain. 

Tony shaves his legs, which-- seriously? Women did not get enough credit for this shit. He shaves his armpits, which is kind of likes, and his hairy arms, and nearly hairless chest. It's very time consuming, and now he completely understands why women take so long in the shower. He doesn't recognize himself in the mirror after he shaves his beard away. His skin is smooth now, and his eyes look bigger, prettier. It was why he grew the beard, he had hated hearing all of the pretty boy jokes. But he doesn't know what to do with his hair, so he leaves it. 

Tony is pretty sure he's supposed to do makeup, then dress, then hair? But he isn't sure. He dresses in loose clothes and goes to the kitchen for coffee and hopefully food. But coffee first. Coffee always first. 

Bucky and Clint remade waffles, and there is already a plate with a couple on it. Tony nabs one, and the peanut butter, and the syrup. 

“You know, nobody is going to know you're Robin Hood, you look like Peter Pan, on the wrong kind of pixie dust.” Tony eats slowly. 

“I'm not Robin Hood, I'm one of the Merry Men. Clint was supposed to be Robin Hood.”

“Anyway, I have a bow somewhere in the shooting range, for sure. You wanna borrow it? There's probably a quiver, too, maybe don't take the arrows around drunk people. That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.” 

Steve nods, mouth full, and gives him a thumbs up, then a wait sign. Tony waits (im)patiently for him to swallow and speak. 

“Thanks, that would be great.”

“No problem,” Tony mumbles around his own mouth full of food. 

They finish eating, Clint takes Lucky and Steve to the range, and Natasha herds Tony and Bucky to the kitchen for makeup. She sits on the countertop to reach them better. Her makeup bag sis beside her, and she waves Bucky over. Tony runs to put his contacts in, and when he gets back Natasha has already started. 

“Antonska, can you hold his hair back?”

He had to stretch to reach, but Bucky's hair was soft under his fingers. He pecks a kiss onto Bucky's jaw. He had missed him last night, had gotten used to having him around. 

“So, how was your guys’ night?” He asks, tired of the silence. 

“We mostly watched tv. We got bored and decided to crash your place.” Natasha rubs eyeliner onto Bucky's face like a masquerade mask. It makes the blue in his eyes so much sharper, more noticeable. He looked hot. Like, predatory and delectable. 

“Bought a new tv?” Tony asks. “That was quick.”

“Yeah, but I told Clint if I see him playing Wii without the wrist thing, I was going to shove it in very uncomfortable places.” 

“Seems reasonable.”

“I thought so,” Natasha smirks. She smudges it a little more, and nods. “There, all done. Hot, right?” 

Tony can just nod dumbly for a moment, before he realizes his jaw might be hanging open. 

“Oh! Yes! I mean, you always look gorgeous. Of course but I mean, wow. You should--, uh, you should think about making this part of your daily wardrobe. Because, sweetheart, you look, like, the most dangerous yet delectable thing. And I get to stare at you all day,” Tony grins wickedly. 

“Glad we came over early, huh?” 

“Of course. You guys are always welcome here. A little forewarning would be nice sometimes, but it's not really necessary. Me casa es su casa, and all that. You can all pick a room and move in for all I care.”

“What? Tony that is… Insanely generous, but sorta just plain nuts. How many rooms do you have?”

“Including yours? Um, somewhere around a dozen, I think, but I'm not really sure anymore, so many things have been reconstructed. But there's definitely enough for you guys, and then a couple extras.”

“Whoa.” 

“Come on, printsessa.” Natasha waves him over next. Tony takes much longer to fix up, and it's a lot more detailed, too. She plucks stray eyebrows, and curls his eyelashes and contours his cheeks. It's, like, a lot of makeup and Tony doesn't understand how other people did this all the time. 

It's been at least an hour, and she helps him off the counter and orders him to get dressed. 

“Do you need help with the zipper?” Bucky offers, winking. 

“No, I got it. I'll be right back in a sec. And, hey, someone should mix margaritas or something! I expect something alcoholic when I return!” 

Alone in his room, Tony shimmies into the little Snow White dress. He pointedly does not think about his dream last night. No, instead he thinks about how utterly amazing Bucky looked in his whole costume. 

Tony does the little buckles on his black heels and practices walking around for a bit. He's done this a couple of times before, when he was at parties mostly. A little cross dressing had never bothered him. Tony walked to look at himself in the mirror. 

He didn't recognize himself. He had expected a big difference, but hadn't expected this. He looked like a girl, with short floppy hair and a flat chest. He wondered if Natasha had any ideas for that. His legs were smooth all the way up the bottom of the skirt, and his face was fully made up. Red lips, big dark eyes, some weird thing with his cheekbones that looked amazing. He sort of looked hot, he had to admit. She had even covered what remained of his bruise. Natasha was a magician. He brought the big red bow with him and walked out to meet the other two. 

“Looking good,” Natasha approves, looking him up and down. “Come, let's do your hair. It's already that nice thick black, so I wanna style it.” 

Bucky is still staring. “You look really amazing, darlin’,” Bucky adds. 

Natasha plugs in her straighter and is very careful not to burn him. She sort of curls it so it's smooth and wavy, and very fluffy. She clips the red bow in, and smiles gently. 

“You look very pretty,” she teases, but her voice is fond. 

“Here you are, my princess. Your royal strawberry margarita,” Bucky grins. 

Tony drinks his whole Natasha fixes his cleavage. Or, rather, gives him cleavage. She tapes these water things down underneath, and Tony isn't sure what else, but it was a ton of work. She tightens the laces of the top, which squeeze and give him curves, and that helps. The result is a set of small but perky breasts. Tonight, it was Toni with an ‘i’. Well, actually, Snow White, but whatever.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, more wanings on this one. Just, you know, read with caution and stuff. 
> 
> I feel like this was really cliche, and kinda stupid dramatic, but I hope that's just my own criticism. Anyway, let me know what you think!!

“This place is amazing! I want to buy it!” Tony has to shout to be heard above the pulsing music. Bucky still strains to hear him. They're at the bar, waiting on a waitress to go by. Tony can't use the Tony Stark card tonight, and has to wait patiently like the rest of the plebs. 

Clint takes his hearing aids out, drops them in Natasha's purse, and dives into the sea of dancing people. Natasha rolls her eyes, and shoulders her way past the crowd to the bar. Tony and Bucky watch her in awe. Only a few minutes later she comes back with a tray of drinks; two pitchers of beer, a bottle of vodka, and glasses. 

“What, did you just walk behind the bar and grab what you wanted?” Tony asks into her ear. They find a table within eyesight of the dance floor. Natasha watches Clint. 

“I didn't need to, I had your credit card,” she grins, and tries to hand it back. Tony shakes his head.

“No, keep it for now. You might have to pull that trick again.”

“You look like a woman, I think you could do the same thing. Go on, go to the bar and get some cranberry juice.”

“Drinks first.” Tony pours shots of vodka with a flourish, and Bucky pours beers. Steve has found Clint already, and they've made it back to the table. Everyone raises a glass. 

“To the amazing US!” Steve toasts, and everyone follows suit. They repour. 

“To our health,” Natasha says. 

“To pickling our livers!” Tony tosses his shot back, downs one more in a hurry, and leads Bucky off to the dance floor. “And making bad decisions!”

The floor is a mess of writhing bodies dressed in mostly skin and little outfits. Many were animals, with bikinis or shorts, and tails. Some wore little dresses like Tony. Many of the men were dressed similarly to Bucky. The dancing made Tony's heart hurt after a while, with the heat and the booze and the excitement. So they go back to the table and their drinks where Steve is talking with Natasha about something pseudo political. 

He, Natasha, and Bucky bring their vodka bottle to the floor with them. They dance and drink it straight from the bottle. Clint has striped most of his costume somewhere, and Steve found some brunette girl to flirt with. It was going well, judging from the tent in his tights. The four of them bounce in time to the music, sometimes sing to the words. It doesn't take long for the bottle to empty. 

Tony uses his newfound powers of seduction to sneak his way through the crowd by the bar, and comes back with another bottle of reasonably priced vodka. His friends cheer in triumph, and Bucky kisses him. 

Tony drinks until he's drunk, they're all drunk, and the room spins around and pulses to the music. It's a good kind of drunk, and Tony smiles and dances closer to Bucky. His--lover? Boyfriend?-- is dancing close enough for Tony to feel the heat coming off of him. Tony reaches back to pull Buckys head down, and kisses him slow and messy. Bucky smiles into the kiss, happy to see Tony carefree. 

It was amazing to have Bucky next to him, dancing. Everyone was having a good time, and it appears even the hostility between him and Steve has vanished. The music was great, and the booze were good, even if Tony is stumbling in his heels because he's drunk. Bucky dances close to him, their bodies sweaty with effort and booze. Tony felt the best he has in a long time. 

Tony felt warm a few minutes ago, but now he's fine again, and he thinks he remembers hearing that they would lower the best in here, hence the name. Yeah, Tony was totally going to buy the club. Except that he has to pee. He leaves Bucky at their table, and walks to the bathroom. High heels are difficult to coordinate when you're as drunk as Tony, but he manages. 

The bathrooms are full, and he has to wait in a line. He gets a lot of looks-- some admiring, some sneering. 

“Jesus, come on guys! I have to piss.” 

He waits and waits, the guy behind him a little too close. Tony feels something rub his ass. 

“Hey, back up, pal. No need to be so close.”

The guy mumbles an apology and backs off, and Tony keeps waiting. He isn't even close to the front of the line, and they were moving slowly. Tony was going to bust a seam before he got in there. Glancing around, he makes for the alley in desperation. 

It's a chilly night in his dress, and he isn't the only one with the same idea. Two other men are already there. They pay him no mind as he tries to figure out the binding he has his dick wrapped up in. The men go back inside, and another comes out. Tony finally finds relief as he finishes the last of his binding. They don't speak to each other, and Tony finally makes to go inside. The damn wrapping part takes ages, and he tries to hurry. Bucky is probably still waiting for him. 

A few moments later, he feels the heat of skin on skin, some strange man's hand on his ass. His heart begins to race. Tony whirls around, and elbows the guy in the face. 

“Keep your god damned hands to yourself,” Tony snarls. 

“Come on, copping a little feel never hurt nobody,” the guy grins. He isn't as big as Steve, or even Bucky, but he has several inches and about a hundred pounds on Tony. “Besides, you're Tony Stark, right? Beneath that whores makeup. I never heard Tony Stark turn down an offer of free cock before. And I like ‘em angry.” 

He wrestles to get Tony's hands pinned against the bricks. Tony yells, but no one hears him. THe guy leans in for a kiss and Tony throws his head forward. It connects with the man's nose, making it bleed. He hits Tony, his head whipping to the side. The hand not bruising his wrists closes around his throat, cutting off his air. 

“Don't play hard to get, I know what you're looking for. Running around drunk in that short little dress of yours, you fucked up little twink.” Tony struggles for air, fights to pull his hands free. His heart rushes in his ears, and he's panicking. His vision grays but the hand finally lets up. Tony wants to scream but he's too busy gasping for breath. 

The stranger is groping his ass again, kneading his flesh through the underwear he was wearing. The guy presses close and his dick, free and hard, rubs against Tony's belly. He talks in Tony's ear. 

“Lacie panties? Naughty, Stark.” His mouth presses against Tony's, hard and disgusting. He lets Tony's wrists go in favor of his throat. Tony chokes again, pinned to the wall. His hands scramble at the grip. 

The hand not at Tony's throat rips at his underwear. The panties tear away, and -- and then the door to the alley opens. Through watery eyes Tony recognizes Steve's stupid green Robin Hood costume. 

“Hey! Get your hands off of him!” The blond bellows, even as he pulls the man away. Tony fights not to collapse, because he knows exactly how filthy the ground is. He chokes on the air, desperate for it. He can hear the sounds of a fight, and he forces his eyes open. Steve is beating the utter shit out of the stranger. 

“Steve.” He coughs, his voice too hoarse. “Steve!” 

The blonde pulls back, and looks up at Tony. 

“Check his wallet, I want his name.” Tony croaks. 

Steve does as he is told, and helps Tony inside. 

“Come on, let's go find the.” Tony keeps pulling on the edge of his skirt, feeling exposed. He wishes it were longer. He's still drunk, and Bucky is the first to find them. He had been looking for them by the bar, and has to keep Tony up with an arm around the smaller man. 

“I'm fine,” Tony voice is still rough from the abuse. 

“Of course you're fine, we've got you. You're okay now.” Bucky doesn't know what happened, he isn't a mind readers, but he can see well enough; the livid look on Steve's face, the wild edge to Tony's eyes. The bruises swelling in his throat and his wrists. He keeps tugging the edge of his dress down. The implications make Bucky furious and sick to his stomach. 

“Here, Bucky.” Steve gets his best friend's attention. “You and Tony catch a cab, I'll find Natasha and Clint. We will follow you guys. We'll meet you at Tony's.” 

Bucky nods, and leads them outside. Tony sways on his feet, but doesn't fall over. They wait for a cab to stop for them, but it was a busy night. 

“You alright, doll?”

Tony nods, and sniffs. “I'm fine. It's fine. Just-- you know, some drunk asshole wouldn't take no for an answer. Steve straightened it out pretty quick. Not that he needed to, I had it under control.”

“Yeah, sugar, I believe you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, whatcha think? Cliche? Too expected? Kinda pointless? Yeah I thought so too. But let me know! Also, name mashes? What am I supposed to call them, Tucky?


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FILLER! .... sorry..

It was only one in the morning when Bucky got Tony home. He helped the man to the couch, and brought him sweatpants and a worn tee from Tony's closet. He offered to help the man dress, but it was declined. 

“Usually men try and take clothing OFF of me when I'm drunk, not help me dress in something even LESS revealing. You're one weird cookie, Barnes.” Tony is still pretty drunk, and he leans against the wall so he doesn't sway. 

“You know, that doesn't actually help me feel better, doll. Why don't you get dressed, and I'll make some coffee.” 

“wait!” Tony calls as Bucky is about to leave. “Wait. Can I-- can, I maybe, I don't know, borrow one of your shirts? Unless you mind. Never mind, it's stupid. Just-- yeah, bring me coffee. Black, no sugar.” He orders Bucky about like he isn't shaking in his own skin. 

“Sure, darlin’. You have a particular one you want?” Bucky asks, careful not to scare Tony off. 

“Something that smells like you,” he mumbles, looking away. His voice is still rough, his throat tender. Bucky smiles fondly and leaves to his room to rummage through the clothes. He finds one of his own sleep shirts from the other night that isn't really dirty, and brings it to Tony. 

“Here, darlin’.” Bucky expects him to put it on, but he just stares back, expectantly. 

“Turn around,” Tony twirls his fingers like Bucky needs a demonstration. He does so with minimum eye rolling. He can hear the rustle of clothes, and finally Tony gives him the OK. He realizes he's never seen Tony shirtless. 

Bucky brings a pitcher of water and some glasses. He turns on the tv to one of the sciencey shows Tony likes, and ticks the little genius into his lap. He doesn't complain, just nuzzles against Bucky before stilling. He's eerily quiet, and he wants to ask but then figures he can talk to Bucky if he wanted, but he wasn't going to press the issue. And anyway, their friends were supposed to be right behind them. 

Tony finished the first glass of water without prompting, and the. Everyone was walking through the elevator door in a wave of chatter and color. They were all stumbling, still drunk, but they had a stack of pizza boxes. 

“Oh, thank god.” Tony finally speaks, and grabs himself the biggest piece of whoever kind was on top. Bucky does the same, and Natasha commandeers the remote. She's the only one that nobody fights with, save Clint. Only Clint seemed to enjoy being injured by her. 

“So, that was fun.” Tony rubs at his neck with a wince. “Maybe next time we could just buy the place out, invite our own hot people. You know, minus the creeps.”

Tony was sure Steve had told Nat and Clint about the pervert in the alley, but if he hadn't, the evidence was clear enough. 

“Right. Well, I'm going to go shower all this shit off my face.” Tony pulls himself away from Bucky and leaves for his room. 

He needs to shower, but the memory of hands has him dreading it. He can still feel them, squeezing his ass. Tugging at his clothes. He doesn't want his face in the fucking water, but he knows he needs to wash the makeup off.

He pointedly thinks of other things. Like, wow, Steve had beat a guy up for him. That was pretty neat. And tonight had been really fun before whatshisface came crashing into the picture. Pressing him against the wall and grabbing him, touching Tony like he had the right to. 

His eyes flew open, and he gasps. No. Right, right, he wasn't thinking about that. He was thinking about how someone really needed to teach Clint how to dance. And that Steve made even green tights look badass. Bucky looked AH-maaa-zing in eyeliner. And, you know, leather. Or nothing. That was fine, too. Probably great, even. 

Finally, Tony's fingers are clean when he runs at his eyes. Clean enough, he hopes. He towels off and checks in the mirror, and scowls at the smudge rings under his eyes. He rubs with the towel and water from the sink, but it seriously takes at LEAST five minutes to wipe that shit away. 

He dresses in layers, and hopes nobody notices. Probably not, it's chilly outside. But he layers Bucky's shirt over a grey long sleeve, and sweats. He wears two pairs of underwear because he can still feel that freak tear his underwear away. He had sort of been planning to surprise Bucky with them, but that sure as hell wasn't happening now. 

He takes a steadying breath and faces the people in the living room-- his friends, he reminds himself. He's supposed to trust them. He's been working on that. But, God. He missed Rhodey. He misses Pepper. But they're not around. 

Everyone is lounging on his couches and chairs, eating leftover candy and pizza. Nightmare Before Christmas is waiting to be played. Thankfully Tony can just flop on top of Bucky and pretend to watch the movie while his mind wanders. 

The others slowly wander off to find rooms and crash, but Tony stays awake, afraid to close his eyes. Him and Bucky are still on the couch, and his boyfriend is snoring underneath him. Tony admires the curvature of his face, his long lashes, plush lips. He's too good for Tony. And he's going to get a crick in his neck, and a headache if he keeps sleeping like that. 

“Bucky?” Tony whispers, shaking his shoulder gently. “Bucky. Come on, babe, let me see those baby blues.”

“Tony? ‘Was matter?” Bucky mumbles, sleepy and hardly coherent. 

“Time to get you to bed. You're going to hurt in the morning if you stay on the couch.”

Bucky scrunched his face in disappointment, and stays where he is. Tony rolls his eyes and pulls the bigger man up by one well muscled arm. Tony steers them to bed, and they collapse in a warm pile of limbs. Tony sleep, but only because he's on day four, or something, of his binge and he really does. It have much choice in the matter. 

**  
It's hot; sweltering, and the weight of a body is suffocating him. Their breathing is rough and loud and hot in Tony ear. He tries to squirm away, but he's trapped. The man is holding him down, and his friends are laughing around them. Waiting for their turn. 

God, he feels the pain now. It's too hot, and he sweats under the other man's weight. His heart is burning too, and his head feels like it's splitting. Something hard, the mans dick, pressing into Tony's hip. 

“No, no,” Tony gasps.  
**

Tony jerks away, a strangled cry echoing in his ear. His chest fucking HURTS, and his head is pounding and it's fucking dark, and there's someone here. His heartbeat gallops double time, and Tony fights to push the body holding him away. His captor is yelling at him. He scrambles to put distance between them, and falls. 

“No!” Tony screams. Not again, he thinks, not again, please. “No, no, no.” He whimpers. He won't build their weapons. 

Suddenly, it's light. Not dark, like the cave. It's not hot now, it's kind of chilly with the sweat cooling on his body. They've stopped touching him. Slowly, Tony dares to open his eyes. 

He is back in his room. In New York. Not that damn cave in Afghanistan. Nobody's hurting him now, his chest just aches and his head hurts. Right, hangover. And then he hears Bucky, notices him sitting on the floor too, out of arms reach a comfortable distance away. 

“-York, it's okay. You're alright, it's just us. Everything is fine, we're fine. Can you breath?” A Brooklyn accent. Nothing like the man from the cave. Bucky. 

Tony takes a shaky breath, finding that he needs it. He exhales. 

“Good, Tony, that's good. Again?”

In and out, in and out, until Tony's breath is hitching with tears instead of blind panic. 

“Shit. Sorry. I'm sorry. Sorry. Just-- can I-- you-- I need a minute. Just give me a minute.” Tony presses his hand over his aching heart, and winces. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No, it's a-- I have a heart… Thing.” He admits, slowly. 

“Oh.” 

Tony wipes at his cheeks, fighting the tears. His throat aches with it, making his chest pain worse, which makes his tears worth. It takes a lot of effort to force himself to take one steady breath, and then another. Fuck, he's so weak. He's so fucked up. He can't even sleep with his friend, platonically, without flipping his shit. His brain is a spiteful bag of cats. Anger helps to stifle his tears. 

A noise to his left makes him jump. It's his phone on the table, blasting rock. His heart is galloping again, threatening to tip him back into a panic spiral. 

“Tony-” Bucky starts, quietly. 

“Wait.” He looks at his phone and snarled. It's General Ross. At 6am. How dare he? Tony takes one more steeling breath, wipes his eyes, and straightens his spine. He answers it on speakerphone, afraid that hearing a voice close in his ear might make him panic. Bucky hears the whole thing. 

“General Ross. What the fuck do you want now?”

“Oh, did I wake you, Stark? My apologies.” He sneers. 

“Actually, I was fucking your father. Now, I'm billing you for consultation. You're on the clock, hurry up. Spit it out. What bullshit are you trying to sell me now?” 

“You know what I want, Stark. Quit fucking around with Stark Industries. You are a weapons company, and you owe it to the US Government to supply us with those weapons, you arrogant little prick.”

Bucky sits silently, shocked at the hostility. 

“You know, I don't recall having to answer to you. Or anyone, actually.”

“You are a disgrace to your father's name! Stark Industries was better off in Stanes hands. You are a spoiled child, who should be turned over someone's knee.”

“Yeah, well, go fuck yourself.” Tony ends the call with a scowl. His wave of anger is fading, leaving him sort of numb, emotionally spent, and shaking. 

“Shit.” Tony's voice shakes. His whole body does. “Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry. I uh, woke you up. I didn't mean to.”

“No, stop right there. You don't ever hand to apologize for something like that again. You've been through some traumatic events, whether people think so or now. You're still only human. You've earned your share of nightmares, and I'll never judge you for it. You never have to apologize to me about that.”

“Yeah, well. It's fine, you can go now. I'm probably done sleeping for the night, anyway.” He says like it's nothing. He's trying to shrug it off like water on a duck's back. It won't work. 

“I already told you I wasn't going anywhere.” Tony shrugs, and climbs back into bed wordlessly. Bucky does the same. The silence is only a little uncomfortable, and Bucky wants to sleep. But he wants Tony to sleep, too. 

“If you want me to leave, you can tell me. I would understand, you wouldn't hurt my feelings.”

Tony shakes his head, and grabs onto the front of Buckys shirt, like it would keep him there. He scoots closer, but hesitates. Tony isn't used to cuddling. He doesn't remember a single time before this that he had been cuddled in his life. 

“C’mere,” Bucky whispers. He loops an arm under Tony's hip and flips him on top of Buckys chest. 

“Much better,” Tony admits, settling in, their legs tangling together. Bucky's arms loosely hold him. They sleep again, without the nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So, question! Who do you think Steve should date? Any other ships to volunteer? Go ahead and comment below, who and why! 
> 
> Thanks for reading guys! You're all awesome.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More filler... Sorry, guys, working on it. I've been a little unmotivated but whatever. Here's a new chapter! Just for shits and giggles, and a little cuddling. Some soft Stevie.

It was one of the bad days. They happen far less often than they used to, but still. Tony wakes up from the pain of his heart, the little injuries agitated by the stress of the day before-- the dancing, the pervert in the alley, his nightmare, his chat with fucking Ross. Asshole.

It hurts with every beat, and every shallow breath he takes. He curls in a ball, Bucky sleeping next to him, oblivious. He stays like that, shivering in pain and stuttered breathing, until Bucky wakes. 

“Mor’n’, darl’n’,” Bucky grumbles. A sharp pain shoots through Tony when he tried to reply in kind, but he just gasps in pain.

“Tony?” Bucky sits up, concerned. Usually Tony is an octopus. “What's wrong? Baby, what's the matter?”

“Heart. ‘S fine,” Tony forces out. “Nothing we can do.”

“Aren't there pain medications you can take? Old man heart pills, or something?” 

Tony shakes his head. “Can't. I'm a recovering drug addict.” 

Bucky weaves a hand through Tony's hair, wishing he could sooth him more. Bucky feels like a lousy boyfriend. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Hold me,” Tony mumbles into Buckys thigh. 

“I can do that.” He pulls Tony closer so he's curled in his lap, resting against his chest. Tony let's a high pitched whine of discomfort escape as he is jostled lightly, but sitting up feels better than lying down did. 

Eventually the team wonders where they're at, and it's Steve who had to check on them. He knocks lightly and Bucky answers as quietly as he can. Tony still flinches from the noise. 

“Hey, Stevie.” Tony gives a half hearted wave, pressing his forehead into Bucky's shoulder. His hands are combing through his hair soothingly. 

“Hey, fellas. You okay? What's the matter with Tony?”

“He isn't feeling well. His head hurts, and he has a heart thing, his chest hurts. I think it's probably gonna be a stay in bed day.”

He and Steve had plenty of stay in bed days when they were kids. Steve had been so sick with his asthma that Bucky had to sit up with him many a night to help keep him upright and breathing. It wasn't so different, doing it with Tony. He talked about irrelevant things, told Tony old stories of his childhood, and held him through his labored breathing. 

“Can I bring you anything?” 

Tony shakes his head feebly, wincing at the jostle it causes. Bucky answers instead, “water and tylonal?”

“Aspirin,” Tony corrects. His voice is low. 

“Right, sorry. Aspirin, then. And maybe something to eat?”

Tony doesn't answer, but Steve takes it as a yes. He brings them two bottles of water and the bottle of aspirin from the bathroom, along with a plate of toast and scrambled eggs. Bucky takes it with a smile, but Tony doesn't move. Steve feels bad for the kid-- he looks awful, face pale and breathing labored. His eyes are closed, and the sleepless rings under his eyes are dark. 

He sets to make a pot of soup for later; scrambled burger, onions, tomato, carrot, celery, and mushrooms go in, with a variety of spices. It's something his ma used to make, if they had the money. 

Natasha and Clint had returned from their errands, and had returned with their Xbox; they were setting it up in Tony's living room, and had brought an entire backpack full of games. They had also stopped by the store to buy ice cream. Clint insisted it was a cure-all. That, and the nail polish he brought. 

Tony and Bucky had napped for a while, but Steve woke them for soup when it finished, though it was a little early-- only 4, Tony notes. Bucky carried Tony to the living room, despite his grumbling, and they shared the couch. He let Tony lean against him so he could breath easier, watch the tv and their friends, interact. 

They took turns playing the Xbox, and as it got later they out in a movie. Natasha curled up on Tony's other side, and Clint against her; the four of them puddled on the couch, and Steve looked through the movies. He paused over Inglorious Bastards. Tony flinches. 

“No war movies,” he asks, despite the stab in his chest. 

Steve nods and moves on. The next thing he suggests is Monsters Inc. Steve moves the arm chair closer to the other side of Bucky.


	21. Chapter 21

The first day it snows, Bucky comes in from work in the morning, and complains loudly about it as he walks into the lab. Tony is sitting cross legged on the floor, hunched over something… that Bucky actually has no idea about. 

“Hey, doll. Good morning.” He bends to kiss Tony's hair. He finds the mug that isn't old stale coffee, and takes a drink. “That looks cool… What is it?” 

“This! This is going to be a miniaturized nuclear reactor. You know, when I'm done. This obviously isn't the finished product.”

“Aren't those supposed to be bigger? I thought they were huge.”

“Yes! Well, it's mini now. Or, it's going to be. I'm doing the fun part next, but I think I'd rather sleep with you first,” Tony tips his head back to smile at Bucky. He's got something like shiney smudged on his nose and eyebrow. His beard had grown back. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, but grins back. “You spoil me,” he teases. He helps Tony stand, and they shower separately because it seems to be an unstated agreement that sex wasn't on the table yet. Tony wondered about it sometimes, but didn't want to push. He wasn't sure if he would be ready for that, anyway. 

November comes and passes. The creep in the alley had been tried and arrested without much noise-- Tony isn't sure how Pepper managed it, but she did. 

Bucky basically moves into Tony's penthouse. The others all had rooms now, entire floors, actually. In the elevator, their respective floors were labeled ‘Struce’ for Steve/Bruce, ‘Ninjas’ for Natasha/Clint/Phil, and ‘Tucky’ for Tony/Bucky. Sam and Riley had their own apartment elsewhere, as did Thor and Jane, but they thanked Tony for his offer and were over often for family night. 

Tony and Steve were on much better basis now-- friends even, dare he say. Since he had started dating Bruce, the four of them had fallen into this easy pattern; the two geniuses would work all night in the lab, sometimes together, sometimes separate but most often a mix of both. Bucky and Steve would get off work and come home in the early morning to drag their geniuses upstairs to shower and eat and sleep. 

Tony still wouldn't see a therapist, but sometimes he opened up in group. He slept more, if not exactly, you know, better. 

So far ‘Tucky’ had been kept out of the news, as had Tony's group sessions. It was encouraging, to have a stable environment. His nightmares had all but disappeared now. 

Thanksgiving had been… a goddamn disaster, to be honest. Tony planned his usual business trip, like he does every year over the holidays. He travels from company to company, checking productivity and the like. It was an excuse to ignore the holidays that he had never really celebrated. Bucky, however, had assumed that Tony would be having thanksgiving with them. Or something. Anything, really. 

It was the Monday before thanksgiving and they were all at group. Bruce finishes his share, and Tony takes his turn.

“Yeah, I'll keep it short. I'll be in Milan, or Singapore, or hell, I don't know, somewhere else. Anyway, I won't be here over the next group, so don't worry. I'll be back the third.” He looks at Steve, who he has learned is a terrible mother hen. When he isn't doing his own reckless things. 

“Wait, what?” Bucky stares, wide eyed in disbelief. “You're going to leave over thanksgiving?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it's this thing I do every year. For the company. Pepper insists I do it sometimes, so it's convenient. You know, me and holidays aren't exactly conducive to a happy or stable environment. So, I work. Anyway, I, uh, didn't think it would bother you.”

“Of course it does! I thought you were going to be here, with us. Your friends. How could you think it wouldn't matter?”

“I assumed you would be doing things with your families. I mean, that's a thing people do, right? Get together on holiday? Don't get plastered or beat the shit out of each other?”

“Becca,” Bucky's sister. “Becca is spending it with her fiancé’s family. We're all going to get together for dinner. Coulson is coming, and Bruce will be back in time to join us, too. I guess I had just sort of assumed you would be, too. I mean, who works over the holiday?” Bucky asks, angry now. Tony responds in kind. 

“I do! I work over the holidays, because they fucking suck!”

“It's a holiday! How could you hate thanksgiving?”

“Mr and Mrs Stark weren't exactly the damn Waltons, alright? We tried the whole chestnuts/open fire schtick, but it ended more like the Lampoons Christmas. You know, if Clark got shit faced and smacked Rusty around, and then Rusty went and got drunk on the roof,” Tony snaps. “So we just, you know, decided it would be mutually beneficial for everyone involved if we were… Less involved. With each other, or holidays. Both, maybe. Take your pick.”

“Sorry I yelled. I didn't mean to get angry, I guess we haven't really thought about it before. I thought you were staying here. With us.” 

“Yeah, I got that. Now, I mean. I understand that, now. I thought-- I thought you guys were doing stuff, I don't know, separately. Or without me, anyway, because nobody ever mentioned anything. And I sort of wondered, but… Yeah.” 

“I'm so sorry, Tony. I'm sorry, sugar. I didn't mean for that to happen. I think we sort of assumed, and we shouldn't have. But-- would you? Spend thanksgiving with us? Do dinner with us? Please?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Tony jokes weakly. He isn't sure it's a good idea-- holidays tend to bring the stress with them-- but he doesn't want to say no. He feels like this is a pivotal moment, for some reason. 

It hadn't been bad, though. His worries had been unfounded, and unnecessary. It was at Tony's, of course. Everyone brought ingredients because Tony was honestly the worst shopper ever and will probably never be allowed to again, as far as Bucky is concerned. 

Anyway… Thanksgiving was awesome. Bucky made the turkey and Steve made the mashed potatoes, and Bruce made steamed vegetables; Natasha made bubal’ki, a sort of biscuit, and Clint made a salad because he a lazy ass. Thor brought desserts that he had made at home-- kanelstanf, which was like a cinnamon twist, coco oat balls, and big cake thing. He brought in two gallons of ice cream as well. Tony made marshmallow yams, one of the easiest things that he could google, and eat marshmallows from the bag. They had taken turns hogging the kitchen to cook their dish, and helping each other. 

Dinner itself had been warm and filled with easy conversation and laughter. Tony had prefered to sit quietly and take in the feeling around him. It was calming, and the sight of his friends happy around him was far more fulfilling than anything Stark Industries had ever done. 

They had eaten too much, and crashed on the couch for movies until people started to drift to sleep. They said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Tony and Bucky went to the bedroom. Tony made the first move, kissing down his boyfriend's neck to his shoulder. They made out, hands roaming, like so many times before. 

Until Tony starts to strip them. That part was new, and very, very okay in Bucky's book. He knew Tony had some unmentioned trauma that prevented Tony from going as far as he wanted some days. Bucky considered it a boundary that Tony should initiate crossing, and boy, did he look good doing it. He strips Bucky of his shirt, and pauses. He looks down, away, like he's distracted. Embarrassed, Bucky corrects himself. 

“You know, they had me in that cave for a long time.” Tony sort of stumbles over the words like he had to force them out. He does. 

“Three months,” Bucky says, nodding, cautious. This conversation could be going several different ways. 

“Yeah, yeah. They wanted me to make weapons, I don't know if you knew that. But obviously I told them I didn't want to, you know. They made me-- you know, tortured me a little. Ruffed me up some. Just-- there are scars, of course there are, but it's… They aren't pretty.” 

“You're worried about your scars? In front of the guy who is actually MISSING his entire arm.” Bucky smiles reassuringly. “I wanna see ‘em, Tony. They're part of you, and lord knows you earned ‘em. Like tiger stripes.”

“Tigers don't earn their stripes.”

“C’mon, you know what I mean. Can I take your shirt off now? Please? I swear, Tony, whatever you're afraid of, isn't going to happen. I ain't gonna see ‘em, and go running away in terror. I promise, Tony. Please?”

He doesn't answer verbally, but he leans back off of Bucky's lap, and turns his back towards him. He closes his eyes and strips himself of his shirt. He tosses it away because he really wants to cover himself. He tenses, shoulders hunched and head bowed, for the rejection. The disgust. 

It's not that bad, really. It covers him from the top of his shoulders to dip below the hem of his boxes. The scars themselves are rough and raised, pinkish white even against pale skin. They'll lose the color with time. They're each a couple of inches long, varied of course. Some are wider and we're obviously deeper. Some show where they were poorly stitched, and some had torn open again. It's like a map before him. But, really, it's not that bad. It isn't disfiguring, it's not ugly. 

He must be staring too long, because Tony squirms. He looks back over his shoulder at him. 

“B-Bucky? It-- uh, it's bad, right? I mean, I really can't see it except if I do this weird mirror thing, but I think it's probably bad. Sorry, I'll just-” he keeps rambling, nervous, until Bucky interrupts. 

“No, no, Tony. Tones, darlin’, sugar. Quit worryin’, you're gorgeous. These right here, they don't make a difference, not to me. They're just another part of you.”

“You're such a cheeseball. But thanks, Nicholas Sparks.” Tony sees his hand hovering above his back. 

“You can touch them. Gently, I mean, the nerves are all,” his hand flutters vaguely, but Bucky understands. “You know.” 

And Bucky carefully turns him back around, pulls him back into his lap. He gently kisses him, hands stroking up his back. Tony sighs, and relaxes into it. He sort of melts against Bucky in a new way, and he loves it.

He lets his hands wander over his chest and stomach, softly muscled and fit but thin. His legs straddled Bucky's own and his weight rests on his thighs. Bucky takes great advantage of this, sliding his fingers up the edge of Tony's boxers, revealing more inches of soft, tantalizing skin. 

“W-wait, wait. Sorry, sorry. I just-- can we, I mean. Sorry, I mean, can we just, stop here? Is this-- is this enough? We haven't exactly been putting ‘active’ in ‘sexually active’ lately. And you've been so patient , and amazing, and just don't want you to think-” 

“You're overthinking this again, sugar. Anything you're okay with is fine. We don't have to rush nothin’. I ain't going anywhere.”

Still, Tony spends the night feeling shitty about cockblocking his own boyfriend. Thanksgiving is a goddamn disaster.


	22. Chapter 22

Their picture is spread across the front page of every magazine, and there are a dozen different tabloids on the floor in front of them. It was-- actually, it was a good picture. Whoever took it had seen them on their ice skating date a few days before. 

Tony's cap had flown away in the wind, and his face was pretty clear. He was shown standing on his toes to kiss Bucky, coffee cup leaning precariously. There were a couple of others, but not many. Them holding hands as they walked down the street, one where Tony was grinning widely up at the other ‘mystery man’. One where Bucky was laughing. 

“It could be worse.” Bucky isn't sure if Tony is talking to him or himself. “I mean, they're way less, uh, risqué than my sex tapes. Why is everyone so interested in this? It's not like they didn't know I was gay.” 

He's tense, waiting for Buckys reaction. The taller man leans forward, opens some of the magazines up to flip through the other pictures. Less cute ones, mostly just trying to figure out who Bucky was. Tony Starks hot mystery man. 

“You know, some of these are good. We should clip some of ‘em out, and put ‘em in an album.”

“Wait. What? Did you really just suggest that?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, look at this one,” he points to the ice skating kiss photo. “You look cute, and short. We should make this the very first photo in the album. Quit laughing, I'm serious now.”

“So you're not, I don't know. Like, mad, or-or, anything else? Because it sort of comes with the Tony Stark package. Unfortunately.”

“I know. I'm sorta surprised it took this long, actually. I thought they would swarm like vultures the first time we went out the door.” 

“We got lucky, they usually do swarm. Like wasps, I think. So-- the question here is: do you want to let them have their fun sweating it out, Phantom of the Opera? Or do you want to come out? Again?”

“Yeah, yeah, you're so punny.” Bucky rolls his eyes at the lame gay jokes. “Let's just do our own thing, and fuck ‘em. They'll figure it out eventually anyway. Doesn't really doesn't matter, does it?” 

“I guess not, this one is all up to you.” 

“And I say that we just ignore them. We ain't gonna stop going out just because some goon in a fedora snaps some pics.”

“Nobody says ‘goon’,” Tony grins and pokes Bucky's side playfully. 

“Yeah? What about dork? Cause you're a huge dork, doll.” He runs his own fingers up Tony's ribs, tickling. 

 

After that, of course, it doesn't take long for someone to follow them back to group. They try to keep the reporters out, but someone hears something. Now, in addition to him joining a support group at the neighborhood VA, there are quotes. Actual words that Tony had said, in confidence, to his friends. 

So, either one of them leaked something to someone, or there was a recorder in the room. With everyone else's personal thoughts and feelings and problems also recorded. Tony isn't sure which he prefered. Maybe the one where his friends haven't stabbed him in the back. Whatever. 

So, okay, maybe Tony is pissed off and stressed and feeling a little vulnerable. He isn't proud of his mean he can be.

“Wilson! What the fuck is this shit? Have you seen what is on the front page of every god damn newspaper and magazine in New York? No? Let me read it for you. Ahem: ‘STARK NOT SO STABLE-- any surprise?’ Now, that's just the headline. I mean, it's accurate, right? Anyway, that's not even the best part-- no, no, you have to listen to this. It's a riot. ‘Tony Stark has been seen participating in a VA support group. Sources hint he has been attending for at least several weeks.’

“‘Some of Starks confessions are quoted below:  
‘They water boarded me, in [Afghanistan]. I have nightmares about it, still.’   
‘I can't even shower with my [...] boyfriend!’” Tony quoted the paper to Sam, furious. 

“How did they get actual quotes? Either one of you went blabbing to the press for a quick buck, or someone had a recorder in that room. I'm headed down to the VA right now, and I had better find some sort of recording device.” Tony grabs his shoes and coat, his sunglasses, and ignored the paparazzi congealing in front of Stark Tower. They all shouted questions at him. 

“Mister Stark, what else did they do to you during your capture?”

“Mister Stark, how did you escape?”

“Who is Yinson?”

“How do you expect this to affect SI stocks?”

“Do you have anything to say for shareholders?”

The busy traffic no better. Happy has been back with Pepper for a while now, and Tony weaves his R8 Spyder through the other cars squeezed onto the road. Thankfully, Sam is waiting for him. He lets Tony go through the room. He finds s recorder taped under the desk, left from last session.

“Any new janitors hired lately? Maybe renovators, or cleaners?” 

“I'll look into it and have you know, man. And I'm sorry this happened. Group is supposed to be about support, and it's just been one thing after another for you. I'm sorry, man.” 

 

It had been some new intern trying to make their big break in reporting. It was handled, and no more recordings were released. Tony took it on the chin, turning it to his side. With Pepper and Sam’s help he became the face of PTSD, speaking at other VA centers and funding a gala for some funding-- really, Sam had set it up, and Tony had signed on the line. He supported it, really, he was just a busy man.


	23. Chapter 23

It is the day before Christmas Eve. The receptionist/little helper intern girl reminded him of Tony-- talkative, animated, and smelling of coffee beans and vanilla perfume. Her necklace says Darcy. 

“So, are you a cat or a dog kinda guy, Metallica? You know, nevermind. You look like a dog person. Probably something big. We have a German Shepard, two labs, a really beautiful husky, and a border collie. There's also a retriever, and two pit bull, and a boxer. There are some smaller ones, if you'd rather.”

“Actually, I'm here for my boyfriend, Tony. He's more of a cat person, I think. Something that can keep him company while he works in his shop all day, you know?”

“I thought you looked familiar! You're Tony Stark’s new squeeze. Nice catch, he's one hot piece of ass. Like, that's a trophy husband right there. So…”

She gets this calculating smirk. “Yeah, we're pretty short on cats. They're all ugly and mean. Fat, you know. Nobody wants that. Exceeeept,” she draws it out. “Except this one adorable little kitten. You can come see him, right down here. Very end.”

She leads him back to the farthest kennel, except Bucky doesn't see a cat. Instead, there's a fuzzy red husky with a pink collar. She's young, maybe a year old. She stares up at him from her spot curled on the floor, and the fur around her pale eyes is dark like makeup. Very pretty, but definitely not a kitten. 

Darcy closes the gate behind them and kneels inside the cage. “Come here, Sasha. Hey, pretty girl.” 

Slowly, carefully, she uncurled herself to reveal a tiny black fluff. 

“They were found together in an alley, and both of them get anxious when they're apart too long. I have been trying to keep them together, but nobody is willing to take both.” 

“What is this little ones name.”

“He is Misha.”

“Misha and Sasha?”

Darcy shrugs. 

“How old?”

“Sasha is seven months, Misha is three. They're both house broken, and really smart. Up to date on shots, of course. Sasha has been spayed, and Misha is scheduled for his in another month or two.”

“They're both really friendly,” Bucky observers. Sasha is getting her ears rubbed and Misha has climbed his sweater and curls into his shoulder by his neck. He can hear him purr. 

“They like you,” she grins. “So I'll just go get the paperwork then?” 

Bucky has thought long and hard about it, and he thought Tony would love a cat; Darcy was right, though, Bucky was a dog person. He supposed he could leave Sasha with Tony and Misha at home. But what about Lucky?

“How is she with other dogs? One of my roommates has a handicapped dog, Lucky. He's good with other animals, but how is Sasha?”

“She's a little shy, but she warms up after a few days. Her and Doper, there,” the retriever, “play in the yard a lot. You want to take her out a little? Sure you do, let me just grab a leash.” 

Bucky clips the lead on her and stands. He tried to pull the kitten away, but Darcey waves it off with a flip of her hand. “Leave him, he likes to come with. He'll just sit on your shoulder, or your head.”

And she's right. Misha just kneads his claws into Bucky's sweater and comes with. Sasha lets off the leash for fetch, and she jumps to catch the balls he throws in the air. She plays with the little pack of labs already in the yard. 

“I like her. And you're right, I think Tony will too.” Sasha comes running back with a quick whistle, and she follows them inside without the need of the leash. 

Darcey hands him papers to fill out. A carrier for Misha. She instructs Bucky to get a list of things including, but not limited to: a litter box, a playhouse, and little balls. Misha has a preference for small balls and bells. So, with Misha and Sasha secured in the car, Bucky goes to petsmart. He thinks he got everything and then some.

A new collar for Sasha, something pretty and expensive that looks good against her red and white fur. They get treats and food and dozens of toys; new beds and a cat tower and some fuzzy blankets for them to lay on, too. They aren't even home yet and they're the most spoiled pets in New York. 

Tony is supposed to be in another round of meetings today, like the week before. So Bucky had expected him to be gone until at least 10pm, like all the week before. So he walks in with a large bag of dog food over one shoulder and Misha on the other, and Sasha on the leash. It was a real surprise when they see him with a glass of scotch, yelling at the dismembered remains of… Bucky thinks it used to be the microwave. Sasha gives a sort of whine, and strains toward Tony on her leash. 

Tony's head picks up, and Bucky watches carefully as his eyes flicker first to the dog, then to Bucky, then to Misha, still on his shoulder like a fuzzy little parrot. He literally drops what he's doing, setting the glass and the tools down with a clang. 

“Okay, so what is-- what is-- what is… This?” He crosses his arms close, and wiggles a finger at Misha 

Bucky carefully shoulders off the dog food, and grabs Misha. He offers him to Tony. “This is Misha. And he's yours. If you want him. I mean, I got him for you. So you won't be lonely when I'm at work anymore.”

Tony takes him carefully, gently, like he is afraid to hurt him. “Misha?” The kitten mews gently. Tony looks back up at Bucky. 

“And he's-- and he's. I mean, he's mine?” He sounds choked up. Bucky nods, and Tony sort of sinks to the floor with Misha in hand, and curls around him. He watches, confused, until he hears Tony sniffle. 

“Are you crying? Shit, you're crying. What did I do? What's wrong?”

“I love him!” Tony sniffs. “These are happy tears!” Misha lets another little mew, and Tony coos, breath hitching. “I always wanted a cat, but Howard never let me. And he's mine?”

“All yours. I, uh, sort of got my own,” Bucky grins, sheepish. “This is Sasha. The girl at the shelter told me they were found together, and they couldn't find anyone who wanted both of them.”

“So, what, you just walked into a shop? Said ‘oh, what about this one?’”

“No, hey, it wasn't like that. I out a lot of thought into this, and I've been wanting to get you a cat. I went in to get you a cat, I swear, and it just happened. The girl at the counter said all the other cats were mean and ugly, and Misha was the only kitten, but they're a package deal.”

Tony laughed, then. “You got duped by the ASPCA girl?”

“You know, I think so. But I think it was probably a good thing.”


	24. Chapter 24

They are all somewhere in the mountains, Tony and Bucky, Sam and Riley, Steve and Thor, Clint and Nat, Bruce and Betty. They're vacationing in Tony's cabin, though ‘cabin’ is a pretty modest term for the three story wood home. There is plenty of room for all of them, there are lots of windows and a large balcony. 

They spent the day skiing-- Steve, Tony, Bruce-- and snowboarding-- Natasha, Clint, and Bucky. They sleds large enough for even Steve to ride in, and it didn't even have to be pulled by a team of Clydesdales. 

They had the biggest snowball fight in the history of the property, and built an army of snowmen around the yard. Clint and Natasha were exceptionally terrifying, the ninja couple hiding in trees and even the roof of the cabin. Bucky was no slouch either, and he had killer aim. Of course, he should, being a former sniper-- he and Clint were two of the top five shots in the world! Now they were lounging in the living room, movie playing in the background, and sipping coffee and hot chocolate. 

It's September again, a year to the day since Tony came stumbling into that first meeting, hungover and sleep deprived. Tony's therapy with Maria Hill has, so far, been very helpful for Tony-- his night terrors are all but gone, he can shower for longer than ten minutes now, and his intimacy issues with Bucky usually aren't even a thing, for the most part. 

Bucky understands that Tony is a little rough on the edges-- too loud, and sarcastic and outright offensive sometimes. But he also knows that the man is selfless, generous, and kind; quick as a whip, and smart as hell. And Bucky loves him to the moon and back. 

“Tony?” Bucky kneels before his lover and their friends. “Darling, will you marry me?”

“YES!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will probably be more little clips added in later, but there she is in her finite glory. Thanks for reading guys!! And comments especially!!! You guys are so amazing!!


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